


You Grew on Me

by Ezabungles



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Daryl works there, Ensemble Cast, Horseback Riding, I promise there's smut later, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Long winded, Lori Cheated, M/M, Michonne owns the Ranch, No Judith - yet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Probably overly descriptive, Racial slurs, Rick takes up an old Hobby, Rickyl, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Slow burn Rickyl, They don't even meet in the first chapter, but it'll be muuuuuch later..., like really slow burn, thus the explicit rating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezabungles/pseuds/Ezabungles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick and Lori have been separated for three months at the start. Carl hates it and misses his dad because they don't see each other much. They're going through the divorce. Rick decides to take up an old hobby he and Lori never shared. Starts horse riding again with intention to lease horses for him and Carl. Michonne owns the Ranch, and Daryl works there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divorce

**Author's Note:**

> First off I apologise for Rick and Daryl not even meeting in the first chapter. I wanted to set the scene for Rick's state of mind, and his relationship with Lori and Carl. I want this to be an epic sonova fic - a freaking novel. Sorry if it's too descriptive and long-winded. Not really beta'd yet.  
> In this chapter, Rick thinks about thangs and stuff, signs some papers, makes an adorable phone call to Carl, and gets ready for bed. Yes, I turned that into 5k words... Sorry, but I'm not really sorry.

Finally the day was over. What should have been just a regular day at the station had been a tiresome affair. It would have been fine, had it not been for Shane always trying to catch him and pull him aside to talk. He didn’t need it – didn’t want it. He just wished Shane would give him some time to come to grips with everything by himself. It hadn’t been the same between them since Lori had confessed. That had been three months prior, and Rick had barely been able to look at Shane, let alone talk to the guy, since.

Rick reluctantly remembered the day. He thought he’d never get that image out of his head - of Lori crying and yelling and trying to touch him, when he could only recoil in disgust and betrayal. He should have known, really, should have figured it out. But he had stupidly held onto the belief that his wife had kept to her vows. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it. She had played him for a fool, and then let him blame himself for it all.

The only grace Lori had given him had been to not do it when Carl was home - the confession, anyway.  Rick had never found out, never _wanted_ to find out if she had committed her digression while their son had been in the house. He really hoped she hadn’t been that callous. And then that thought had him reeling in guilt all over again, to imagine his wife as so thoughtless and blind to have thrown aside her promises, her vows, while their child was around.

Of course to hear it from her, one would think that Rick had been in the wrong, that he had been uncaring, distant, and absent from their lives and their marriage. In his wildest dreams, he couldn’t imagine how she could possibly think like that. He had always tried, even when Lori had made it impossible, almost like it was a trap and that she had wanted him to fail.

She had always twisted his words. She had a skill for turning everything around, the blame included, to Rick’s fault. He worked too much. He didn’t spend enough time with her and Carl. He didn’t do enough around the house. He didn’t fix things when he said he would. But he hadn’t been the one having an affair.

He should have known.

They had become passionless. They hadn’t been tender and intimate for a long time. Even when they’d made love – and she had made it seem like a gift, like a favour – she never kissed him. She didn’t look at him, didn’t moan his name while he did his best to pleasure her as she lay, unresponsive, despite his best efforts that had once upon a time had her begging for more, back in the day, when their marriage was still young and fresh, back when they were still very much in love.

For the last couple of years though, more so within the last year, Rick felt now that they had simply been going through the motions. They had lived day in day out around each other, but not _with_ each other. He was just a fixture in their house, someone to nag, someone to fix things, someone to blame when Carl was doing bad at school.

He should have known. He should have, but he didn’t, not until it was too late. He had walked right out of the house that very night.

Doing his best to push aside the depressing thoughts, Rick eased the cruiser out of the station parking lot and down the street. One hand resting on the steering wheel and the other braced against the open window, he drove home in silence.

He contemplated putting on the radio, anything to drown out the memories and thoughts roiling through his mind, but it had seemed that any time he did, a song would come on, some song that reminded him of Lori, of better days. Perhaps it was better to drive in silence.

It was a hot summer day, the temperature reaching the high nineties. A drop of sweat rolled down Rick’s nose, which he wiped away as it started to itch. Thankfully tomorrow, Saturday, was supposed to be cooler. He grimaced as he remembered doing such an activity as that which he had planned, in heat-stroke inducing temperature. He hoped the forecast was right, and he wasn’t going to melt.

One uneventful drive later, Rick pulled up in the driveway of his house. He didn’t refer to it as a home; it didn’t feel like one just yet. It was a place to sleep, eat when he was motivated to prepare something, and host Carl when Lori graced him with their son’s presence every second weekend. He really needed to get along and finish up the paperwork so they could work out a proper custody agreement; four days every month was _not_ enough time to see his son.

He’d sign the damn papers tonight, he promised himself. Bile rose up into his throat whenever he thought about it. _Divorce_. Divorce papers sitting on his dining room table, menacing as if they were going to up and attack him when he walked by too close.

Turning off the engine, Rick just sat for a while. He sighed deeply, thinking of the empty house that awaited him, cold and unwelcoming. What he wouldn’t do to have Carl come out of the house right now to welcome him home, ask to wear his hat, and jabber away about whatever had happened at school that day. With longing, Rick’s gaze swept to the front door, the crisp white paint shining in the glance of sunlight that angled under the veranda roof.

When his son didn’t come running out to greet him, Rick finally extracted himself from the cruiser, shutting the door behind him. Keys jingling in his hand, he fumbled a bit finding the right one; apparently two whole months at his new place hadn’t yet allowed him to naturally select the right key.

More habit than necessity, Rick shuffled his shoes along the ‘welcome’ mat, not feeling all that welcomed at all. Letting himself into the house, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up on a hook behind the door, along with his hat and gun belt.

He raked his fingers through his curly hair, to muss it up from the hat-hair, though it was not like there was anyone there to see it, or nag him for it even. He stood for a moment, looking around the house at his meagre possessions. He’d collected everything that was his – or everything that Lori had let him take - from their house the day after he’d walked out. It had stayed in a storage facility for a few weeks, as he’d contemplated whether or not their situation had been repairable. It hadn’t.

The few weeks at the motel had cost him dearly, even though he’d picked the cheapest place around. Finally, after he realised she wasn’t coming to him to apologise, to beg him to take her back, he’d rented a small two-bedroom house not far from the Sheriff’s Department of Coweta  County where he worked.

Most of the boxes were still in the garage, still packed. The only things through which he’d sorted had been his clothes and the few pictures of Carl he’d been graciously allowed to take. They had pride of place above the mantel of the red brick fireplace. He made a mental note to take Carl to get some more pictures taken of the pair of them; his collection was small and out-dated, the most recent he had was from the previous years’ school photo in his wallet.

Most of his furniture, he’d picked up from an old second hand place in town: a few mismatched lounge pieces including a large sofa-bed; a 5 piece wooden dining set; assorted cabinets and side tables, and his and Carl’s beds. He planned to get more, something modern, something more befitting a Sherriff’s Deputy, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to purchase anything new just yet. Doing so felt like hammering the final nail in the coffin that had been their marriage, and despite the conscious thought that it was definitely over, something deep inside him hurt when he thought of that.

He kicked off his boots, leaving them lying haphazardly next to the door. There was no one else to trip over them - one of the few benefits of being a bachelor.

Sighing once more, Rick strode through the decent sized kitchen to the fridge. He glanced at the phone on the way, not surprised to see that he had no messages. There was no one to call him, really, no one from whom he wanted to hear, anyway. Lori only called when she needed something, Carl often caught him on his cell, texting him first generally. And then there was Shane. Well, Rick didn’t want to hear from Shane ever again. Every time Rick met his ex-partner’s eyes at the station, he couldn’t help but picture the guy’s face twisted in ecstasy, gazing down at Lori as he fucked her, likely on Rick’s bed. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to meet Shane’s eyes without dealing with that horror and agony.

He really didn’t have any other friends. All the ones he used to count as such, had turned out to be _Lori’s_ friends, taking her side in the separation. He’d had no one. She’d taken his wife, his best friend, and his son and left Rick with no one.

It was therefore not really a surprise when he’d turned to the drink. He’d never been a big drinker, per se. Sure, he’d have a wine every now and then at dinner, at home or the rare times they’d dined out. Sometimes he’d had a beer or two with the guys from work after a long or particularly awful day, shooting the shit together at Murphy’s Sports Pub. Since they’d all sided with Shane, Rick had avoided the place like a bad odour, taking refuge at Taylor’s instead.

He’d spent many a night there in the early days getting completely blind, needing to take a taxi home, much to his dismay. He’d even had to cash in a few of his sick days, though with his attendance record, it wasn’t like he didn’t have many to spare.

Opting for the slightly more conservative way, he pulled a beer from the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swig. The icy cold felt good going down his throat, and the condensation around the bottle cooled his hands. He pressed the bottle to his forehead, rolling it from side to side and just enjoying the temperature relief. Yep, just a cold beer or two at home tonight, he thought. After all, he was due to be up early in the morning, and needed to drive.

Walking back through to the lounge room, he couldn’t help but glance at the papers he’d managed to ignore the first time. He gritted his teeth and decided to deal with it later. After a beer or two, they might not be so painful.

Rick picked up the TV remote from the coffee table, and chose the recliner. Reclining comfortably, beer in hand, and occasionally against his face and neck, he turned on the TV and started aimlessly flicking through the channels. Football game re-run: he’d never been that big into sports, really. Soap Opera – he changed really quickly from that one. There was no need for more heartache than that which he already had. News: some poor kid had died, driving under the influence of drugs.

Rick clicked his tongue, thinking of Carl and that he was due to turn fourteen in a few months. He hoped he’d never have to deal with something so horrible, and made a mental note to take Carl to go see some recovering drug addicts, give him a real example of the joys of drugs.

Shrugging, even though there was no one to see it, he left it on that channel because he didn’t have much choice. Maybe he would grace Carl with the pay TV he was always begging for; it would be nice to have more options, though Rick didn’t like the idea of being so reliant on television for entertainment.

Even while Rick was thinking of Carl, his phone buzzed in his pocket, playing the default message tone. Carl often offered to show him how to get more ‘ringtones’, but Rick wasn’t bothered. It both amused and irritated his son. Besides, Rick didn’t think Carl would be that interested to play with the older model he preferred. None of that fancy smart-phone, ‘apps’ and games, facebook always bothering you nonsense for Rick. A reliable phone that wouldn’t break if it was looked at wrong was his preference any day. That being said, he had upgraded to something with a camera on both sides, so he could occasionally video call with Carl.

Taking out the phone and flipping it open, he read Carl’s text message.

   [You home yet, Dad? Call me, kk?]

Not entirely sure what ‘kk’ meant, Rick smiled bemusedly. He didn’t think he’d ever catch up on all the ‘texting lingo’, though it amused him when Carl would sigh exasperatedly and explain some acronym or term when he asked. After all, if his son had started using what seemed like a code language, Rick needed to know some of it to understand half of what Carl said.

He took another swig of his beer, and muted the TV, though he was barley paying attention anyway. He dialled Carl’s number, saved first on his speed dial, and sat forward in the recliner while he listened to the dial tone.

“Dad!” Carl answered the phone excitedly, making Rick smile a genuine, happy smile.

“Hey Carl, how are you? How was your day?” He asked, legitimately interested. Had he ever taken Carl’s answer to that question for granted before? He hoped not. He sure as hell treasured it, these days.

“Good!” Carl was practically bouncing with joy at getting to speak with his dad. He began jabbering away about what had happened with school, and with his friends, and his mother and Shane, though Rick’s smile faded a little when the conversation went that way. He didn’t let on; he let Carl talk himself out, until his son finally asked about the next day. “When can I come with you?”

“Soon, Carl.” Rick replied, chuckling lightly. He was so glad that Carl actually had an interest in his dad’s new thing. “Probably next weekend, I’d say. I want a bit of practice first so I don’t embarrass you. It’s been years…”

Carl groaned, and it was probably because he thought Rick was likely to embarrass him anyway, because Rick was his dad and that was kind of his job, but he was laughing again a moment later.

“Cool!” And Rick could hear it in his voice, he really did think it was ‘cool’. Rick’s grin widened, until he heard Lori’s voice in the background, calling Carl.

“Oh, I’ve got to go! Mom says it’s dinner time..” Carl’s voice trailed off a bit, his tone lowering with a hint of sadness.

“It’s okay, you go to dinner. I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.” Rick didn’t really mean it, wasn’t bothered if Carl actually passed on the greeting, but it made Carl happy when they didn’t fight, when they were civil. He did it for Carl.

“Okay, I will. Bye, Dad. I love you.” Carl’s voice was sincere and loving and it almost brought a tear to Rick’s eyes.

“Bye, Carl. I love you too.”

Rick hung up the phone, gazing at the contact screen. Carl's number was under a picture they'd taken together when Carl had insisted they play with Rick's new phone. Rick's face was goofy and unprepared for the 'selfie', and Carl was laughing because he knew it.

This time, he didn't stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. His heart wrenched as he stared at the picture, taking in every minute detail: the freckles over Carl's cheeks; the shine in his blue eyes so much like his father's; the genuinely happy smile.

Rick wiped his eyes, flipped his phone shut, and put it back into his pocket. He took another long swig of his beer, finishing it off quickly. It bubbled in his throat, causing him to burp loudly. It was yet another thing for which Lori would have scowled at him, but she was not there. No one was there with him. Just Rick, alone in the too-big house, only so big for the few days a month when he got to see his son.

Clenching his jaw, he stood and made his way into the kitchen, dropping the empty beer bottle haphazardly into the recycling bin where it bounced around a bit. He wrenched open the fridge and got out another beer, opening it and tossing the cap onto the counter next to the last one.

Taking a big gulp of beer, he stalked over to the dining room table, and plunked himself down on the wooden chair, the legs squealing on the tiles a bit. Setting down his beer on the table, he dragged the damned papers over and scowled at them, like it was them that had ruined his marriage.

He knew the details. He knew the drill. They'd been over everything with the Lawyer, a firm yet friendly blonde woman named Andrea Harrison. He didn't re-read anything on the papers, only looked for the little post-its indicating where he needed to sign.

He signed here and there, in what seemed like tens of different places, in a bit of a daze. Finally, he made it to the last page. Doing his best not to skim, he signed the last signature, almost sure his hand was seizing up with all the writing.

Finally done with the damn thing, he thrust them aside, along with the pen. The beer was at his lips once more, as he tried to soothe the bile that had risen up his throat from the act. Draining it, and suffering a bit from the gas bubble in his gut, he slammed the bottle down on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, breathing heavily.

It would all be worth it, for Carl. He did it for Carl. He'd get to see Carl more. It would be worth it.

Rick leaned over the table more, elbows resting on the surface, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Seeing stars behind his eyelids, he relaxed slightly, sighing. He reached over and dragged the papers back over gingerly, as if they might bite him. Shuffling them around a bit, he straightened the pile, and slid them into the large yellow envelope provided, sealing it shut. It all felt very official. It was official, and it was officially done.

He did it for Carl.

He pushed the thick envelope into the middle of the table, away from his body. Pursing his lips slightly, he pulled his keys from his pocket and placed them on top. That way, he wouldn't forget to pick it up to drop in the mailbox on his way through town the next day.

His mood brightened slightly, thinking that he might finally have a chance to unwind tomorrow. He might also fall on his arse and embarrass himself to all hell, but he was sure he'd have a fun time doing it.

"It's been years.." he muttered to himself, chuckling. The laughter was cut short, when he realised he'd been talking to himself. That surely wasn't a good sign. It was definitely time to get out of the house, and do something that didn't involve alcohol.

Tomorrow. He'd start tomorrow. It was already planned, booked, and ready to go. He was actually kind of excited.

It was time for bed. It was disgustingly early; the sun was barely setting, casting an orange glow about the living room. Everything looked more beautiful in the coloured light. More beautiful, and more sad. His sad furniture in his lonely, too-big house.

It was definitely time for bed.

The chair legs squealed over the tiles again, and he made a mental note to get some rubber caps or something for them. Then he made a mental note to start writing down all of his mental notes. Maybe he'd stop by the shops on the way home tomorrow and get himself a to do list board or something, he thought.

He left the empty beer bottle on the table, smiling sadly, thinking that there was no one to rouse him for it. He checked all the doors, even the ones he hadn't unlocked at all, and strode up the stairs to his bedroom, starting to unbutton his shirt.

Carefully pulling off his deputy badge and placing it on his dresser, he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it at the hamper. After undoing his belt, he curled it up next to his badge, and kicked off his pants. With only his boxers remaining, he entered his en suite, checked he had a towel ready, and turned on the water to allow it some time to heat up.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a while, scrutinising himself, leaning on the sink. His knuckles went white as his grip tightened around the lip of the basin. Grinding his teeth a bit, he decided to finally do it.

He relinquished his grip on the sink, and stared at his hands, as if only truly seeing them for the first time. He ran his finger over the inside of his left palm, and along his fourth finger, before finally easing off the gold band. There was a very obvious tan line where his wedding band had been. He'd worn it nearly 24/7 for just shy of twenty years, after all. His finger felt naked. He suddenly felt very vulnerable.

He opened the cabinet, his reflection jumping as the door swung open. Looking inside, he pondered for a moment. He didn't have a jewellery box or anything - that had been Lori's thing. He cocked his head as he considered, before deciding.

He reached into the cabinet, and pulled out the bottle, inspecting it with his eyebrow raised. Why Lori had thought a fancy cologne was a good gift for a man like Rick, he'd never figured out. With the shape of the bottle, however, it would suit. He slid his once-treasured wedding band over the neck of the bottle, where it sat glistening innocently in the en suite light.

Suddenly annoyed by it, he shoved the bottle into the cabinet, pushing it to the back and blocking its view with assorted toiletries. He slammed the cabinet door shut, and stripped out of his boxers, before getting into the shower cubicle finally.

The water was hot, but not scalding - perfect. It always confused him how women - how Lori - liked to have boiling hot showers. Whenever they'd shared a shower, he'd subtly turned the heat down after she got out, so he could cool his burning skin.

He shook his head of the thought. He didn't want to be thinking about Lori anymore. That was why he'd just removed his ring. As soon as the papers were received and approved, they would be officially divorced. They'd be divorced, and Rick could try to heal. Starting in the morning.

He hung his head low, letting the water rush through his hair as he gazed unfocused at the stream. He remained that way for a few more minutes, before shaking himself out of it. He was wasting water. He quickly washed himself, scrubbing a bit harder than was strictly necessary at his finger, and shut off the water after he was rinsed off.

While he was drying himself, he heard the text message tone go off from his phone that he remembered he hadn't taken out of his pocket. He wrapped the towel around his waist, hanging low off his hips, and went to save his phone from his pants pocket. He was grateful it'd gone off; he might've left it in there to wash by accident.

He sat on the edge of his bed, and flipped open the phone, wondering if it was Carl again. Much to his dismay, it was not.

Lori's words were brash, and almost seemed rushed. It was amazing, he thought, how she could sound impatient and irritated just in text.

  [Did you sign the forms?]

Simple, short, irritating. She'd been on his case for a while. Sure, she had good reason; she wanted it over and done with as much as Rick. She wanted it more, probably. She wanted to get along with her new life, her life with Shane. Lori and Shane playing happy family while Carl suffered between them. Rick's eyebrows furrowed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself, before he allowed himself to snap back at her. He decided to send a text back, so she could take it however she liked, no inflection, no tone of voice.

  [Yes. Forms are signed, Lori. Posting them in the morning.]

And with that, he shoved his phone on the bedside table. He dug his palms into his eyes again, then dragged his hand down his face as he sighed. It was definitely time for bed. Undoing his towel, he pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and pulled them on. He went back into the en suite briefly to hang up his towel, and drag a comb through his curls.

His gaze was intense on the cabinet door, unable to not think about what lied inside, hoping he would soon forget about it. Flipping off the light of the en suite, he dragged his feet over to turn on the ceiling fan, suddenly very weary and exhausted. He hoped he'd get a good night sleep, for the next day was due to be very draining. Draining, but enjoyable, if he remembered correctly.

Raising his eyebrow at the fan's weak breeze, he upped the speed another rank, before crossing the room to his bed. Pulling off the covers, he pushed away all but one light sheet; it was a warm enough evening that he didn't need much. He'd wake up uncomfortable and sweaty if he covered up too much.

Sliding into the bed, he reached over and plugged his phone into the charger. It bothered him how modern phones tended to use all their battery in just one day. He missed the days where one didn't need one, where one could be caught on one's home phone, or not at all. At least he could text Carl. That was the phone's one saving grace. That and maybe the weather forecast.

Frowning, he remembered - thankfully - and checked his alarm. He re-set it to an appropriate time for the morning's rising. Early morning on a Saturday. He wondered if Carl would be so keen to join him, once he found out they'd be up with the sun, or there about.

He smiled and chuckled to himself, imagining the way Carl might whinge and complain as they did their best to get ready and leave so early. He couldn't help it - his fingers fumbled over the lit up screen as he navigated back to Carl's contact information. He didn't call, only gazed at the photo affectionately for a while.

After he felt sufficiently like a sad sap, he closed the phone, praying silently that the alarm would be successful in the morning. He was really excited, if he was honest with himself. It would be a nice change, something different to do, something to get him out of his work-alcohol-sleep rut.

Something to get his mind of Lori, his dying - no, dead - marriage, and just how much he missed his son. Something they could do together, bond over, something Rick could teach Carl, if he remembered enough.

He really was quite excited.

He rolled around, trying to get comfortable; he still had not totally adjusted to sleeping alone. The lack of another's presence in the bed had been a big difference, after sharing a bed almost every night, for almost twenty years. Sometimes he thought he could still smell Lori's shampoo on the pillows, but when he'd buried his face trying to find the scent, it was gone. He would curse himself, and huff, and do his best to sleep, but he'd more often than not end up tossing and turning without rest for hours.

That night, he didn't seek out Lori's scent. He simply buried his face in his own pillow, sliding his arm underneath it for comfort. He lied like that for a while, until he unconsciously remembered. He rolled over, bringing the pillow with him to the middle of the bed, and lied spread eagle upon the mattress, sheet barely draped up over his hips.

After a few moments of wrestling with his busy mind and his fatigue, he slipped off to sleep. His dreams were full of the smell of dirt and grass and leather - a relaxing dream. The image that constantly repeated over and over, however, was that of his son. Carl's freckly, smiling face resurfaced in his dreams, happy blue eyes sparkling like the moon in the sky.

That night, Rick slept quite peacefully, for the first time in months. The next day was going to be the start of something new, a new chapter in his life as he moved from his and Lori's lives, to his own, signed divorce papers weighing heavily in the envelope, and in his mind. He didn't know just how much that meant, just how much his life was going to change.

The next day, he would be taken on an incredible journey of change and discovery. The next day, Rick would meet Daryl Dixon.

 


	2. Rick & Rusty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Rick and Daryl meet! Rick meets his new furry friend and we see a few familiar faces from canon. Rick finds he's getting his riding seat back fairly well, and gets confident. Perhaps a bit too-confident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long (this chapter clocked in at just over 10k words!! - and already making this my longest written piece to date) and very descriptive with the horsey stuff. Please if any non-horsey people notice things they don't understand, let me know! I've been a horsey person for so long I can't remember what's known by anyone and what's discourse.

Rick's alarm sounded noisily, signalling the end of sleep. He rolled over, his arm reaching vaguely for his phone on the bedside table. Finally finding its target, his finger fumbled at the phone, before clicking the correct button to turn off the noise.

5am, what a ridiculous hour to be up, he thought, as he rolled onto his back. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and wasn’t due to do so for another hour or so. His eyes adjusted slowly to the near full darkness, having to do so after gazing blearily at the phone’s lit up screen.

Rick rubbed his hands over his face, digging his knuckles into the corners of his eyes to remove the grit of sleep. He pushed a bit too hard and saw stars for a moment, before relaxing, his arms spread out on the too-large bed.

He felt haggard, and drowsy, like he’d over slept, and he probably had. Given the previous night’s agony over the damned papers, he’d gone to bed way too early. Still, he thought his body would appreciate the rest given the strenuous activity it was due to endure over the day.

Still lying on his back and enjoying some last allowed moments of laziness, he reached blindly for his phone again. He pulled it over, thankful for the longer charger cable Carl had convinced him to buy. He hadn’t thought he’d truly need it, but as it strained simply from the distance between the power sockets behind his bedside table to the middle of the bed, he realised its usefulness.

He made a mental note to thank Carl for the suggestion, and was therefore reminded of the silly little promise he’d made to himself the night prior, to start organising his mental notes in tangible form. If he still had any energy in the afternoon, he’d stop somewhere and pick up a memo pad, or maybe even a whiteboard to put on the fridge. He smiled at the thought of Carl wanting to doodle over the whiteboard, and thus his decision was made. Perhaps they could even leave little notes to each other on it. He’d like that – something at which to glance in the kitchen to remind him of his son, though it wasn’t like Carl wasn’t always on his mind anyway. He was all Rick had.

Once again, he found himself clicking his way to Carl’s contact info on his phone, the bright LED screen illuminating the dark room. Carl’s shining face smiled at him from the tiny screen, and Rick contemplated sending his son a text, asking if their household was up yet. He’d likely cop a scolding from both Carl and Lori, so he pushed the thought away. He’d call Carl in the afternoon, maybe even take a picture or two over the day to send him.

Satisfied with the few minutes he spent staring at Carl’s face, Rick flipped the phone shut, and reluctantly rolled over to get up. He swung his legs over the bed, thinking he’d better start getting used to being up so early. True, it wasn’t quite that much earlier than he woke for work, but even the extra hour was painful the first time, and likely would the next few. Perhaps he’d start getting up earlier every morning, too.

He took a moment to scrub his hand down his face once more, his palm grazing over his stubble. He hadn’t been shaving as often as he used to. Lori wasn’t there to nag him about it, and he had no one to impress, so why bother? Some of the other deputies had long beards indeed. Maybe he’d grow himself a proper one, in honour of his bachelor status. He got a sudden sick pleasure thinking of Lori’s opinion about his new fashion statement, and though he felt kind of bad and spiteful, he felt his second decision of the day was made.

He dragged his feet over to the en suite, and ran the tap for a while, cupping the water in his hands, and splashing it onto his face. It helped him wake up a bit more. He contemplated taking a cool shower to help him wake further, but as he’d had one the night before, and would definitely need to take one in the afternoon, he decided against it. It was time to get moving, anyway.

He turned off the faucet, and gazed at himself blankly in the mirror. His eyes went to the spot where behind the mirror sat his wedding band, upon the neck of the cologne bottle, and shook his head. No need to think about that anymore.

It was over. His marriage was over.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel the twisted curling in his gut thinking about it all. Perhaps it had finally hit him, and he was ready to start moving on.

Doing his best to push aside all dead marriage and Lori thoughts, he trudged back out of the en suite, and opened his dresser. He chose a washed-out pair of jeans, and a simple button up shirt. He wanted comfort, though it was not like he was much worried about anything else on any other day, anyway.

He pulled on the jeans, and slid on and buckled up the belt he’d curled up on the dresser. The shirt was a tiny bit more difficult, as he fumbled a bit with the buttons in the near dark, but eventually he was dressed. Remembering he was going to be in public, he went back into the en suite and pulled a comb through his dark curls.

Setting down the comb on the counter, he inspected his appearance in the mirror and shrugged. He thought he actually looked pretty good, if he was honest with himself. He didn’t know if he screamed bachelor, but he didn’t really care; it wasn’t like he was suddenly on the prowl. Given he was wanting to make a decent impression at his destination, however, he went for at least presentable.

Shaking his head as he realised he was in fact trying to impress somebody, though in a different manner, he almost chuckled to himself. It really was too early; he was clearly a little delusional.

Back over at his dresser, he pulled out a pair of long, thick socks; he’d definitely need them, as he hadn’t had the time to wear in his shiny new boots just yet. He sat down on the bed quickly to pull them on.

He collected his phone after unplugging it from the charger cable, and went downstairs. He glared for a moment at the ominous yellow envelope on the table, before picking it up and tucking it under his arm. He had promised he would post it in the morning, after all.

Grabbing his newly purchased Stetson from the hook next to his deputy hat, he put it on, slid his feet into his equally new boots, and swept out the front door, ensuring to lock it behind him.

The drive through town was mercifully uneventful and quiet. Not too many people were up and about at such an early hour. He made a necessary stop to post the envelope, giving it one last intense stare before slipping it into the post box, and popped into the coffee shop to grab something to get him through the morning.

There was no one else inside, so the stop was quick. The young blonde barista Amy, who Rick knew to be the younger sister of his lawyer, seemed apathetic and a little angry at the world, as most teenagers tended to be, for being at work so early. She perked up however, when he commented on her new necklace. The little mermaid charm had been a birthday gift from Andrea, and she gave him a smile as she handed him his double-shot coffee. He returned the smile, and tipped his Stetson politely, before stepping out and getting back into his car.

Hot coffee in his cup holder, Rick drove swiftly through town to the outskirts, where the suburban houses and neighbourhoods gave way to open fields and distant forests. It was peaceful, living so near to nature, and he enjoyed the half hour drive whole heartedly.

His mood was quite brilliant as he finally pulled off the road down the long drive onto the ranch. Horses of every colour speckled the huge fields around the large buildings situated a ways down the track. Just beyond the road entry, he drove under a huge sign that arched over the drive that read “Whitesburg Riding School & Board”.

The property backed onto a small, forest covered mountain; Rick could see the fence lines leading all the way back, getting more and more tiny as they finally flanked the trees.

Pulling into the nearly deserted carpark, Rick noted a few pickup trucks, and seemingly out of place, a motorbike. The high handles of the Harley shone in the rising sun, and Rick wondered to whom the beast belonged. Perhaps it was one of the ranch hands.

Gulping down the last dregs of his now only lukewarm coffee, Rick strolled through the lot and into the main building, the little bell on the door tinkling as he entered. He disposed of his Styrofoam cup into the bin in the corner just as the owner came down the hallway to the entry.

Rick had only spoken to the woman on the phone a few times, but she’d seemed friendly enough. One tended to find that with horse folk though. Living in the country around horses seemed to breed nice people, though of course that was not always the way.

“Rick, I assume?” the woman asked, coming out from behind the counter and offering her hand.

“Yes ma’am.” Rick answered, taking her hand and shaking firmly. “It’s Michonne, isn’t it?” he asked in return.

“That’s right.” Michonne confirmed, giving him a wide smile, pearly white teeth glowing against dark skin. “Think you’re ready, then?” she asked, smirking a little.

“I think so, yeah.” Rick shrugged his shoulders, his hand coming to rest on his hip. “It’s been years, but I’m ready and raring to go.”

“Brilliant. Come this way then.” And Michonne walked past the counter to the rear exit, with Rick following close behind.

The building opened up to an amazing sight. To the left were the stables, where a few horse heads poked out over the stall doors. Beside each stall door was a hook with a halter on it; Rick supposed each horse had its own halter.

At the end of the stables stood a huge shed, likely where the tack was stored. Rick thought he might feel just like a kid in a candy store, exploring what he imagined would be rows and rows of saddles and bridles in every size.

Lines of hitching posts were scattered about not far from the stables, and on the rack next to one of them sat a saddle, rug and bridle, waiting for the first rider of the day, and Rick assumed that might be him.

Further down he could see the small round yards. He imagined he’d likely start off in one of those, to regain his bearings, and his seat. He grimaced slightly, thinking of how many kids spent a long time in the round yards before they graduated to riding in the larger fields, and hoped it’d come back quickly. He didn’t want to spend too much time on the kiddie lessons.

Beyond the round yards was a huge field; it had to be hundreds and hundreds of yards wide, and he could see tiny coloured specks in the distance, and wondered what they were. Obstacles perhaps, for training, or maybe even barrel racing, Rick wondered. They could even be jumps, but it was too difficult to judge from so far away.

Even further, past the field, Rick could see the beginning of a number of trails leading up into the mountain. He knew the School also offered trail rides, and he thought he couldn’t wait until he and Carl could take to the trails. He hoped they would be able to quite soon.

A few of the horses nickered at seeing Michonne, and as she and Rick strolled past, and she paused a few times to gently rub the foreheads of the horses that reached their heads out to her.

Rick was immediately impressed. She seemed to have a good bond with her horses, and that was exactly for what he was looking: a nice friendly place where the animals were happy and well treated and respected. He’d found a winner, he thought.

As they walked further along the stables, another figure came into view, hauling huge buckets of feed. Immediately, Rick thought that the guy had to be the owner of the motorbike. Dark hair falling over his face and hiding his eyes, he huffed audibly at the effort as he got closer. Bulging muscles strained and pulled, his arms visible due to his sleeveless top.

Michonne halted as he got closer, and waved him over. He blew the hair out of his deep blue eyes, which narrowed at the summons. He seemed a gruff sort of a guy, and reeked of, well, bad.

Rick thought he knew the type, and often saw guys like that in his line of work. He knew he shouldn’t make such an assumption; he didn’t even know the guy’s name, let alone his history, but Rick’s cop instincts told him to tread with care.

“All going well, Daryl?” Michonne asked of the guy as he lowered the haphazardly stacked feed buckets to the ground to take a break.

“Yeah, ‘s alright.” The guy apparently named Daryl answered, glancing at Rick and looking him up and down, scrutinising him. Rick shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, but Daryl’s gaze swept back to Michonne as he continued to talk, his Southern accent heavy. “Queenie gave me a bit of trouble bringin’ her in, but y’know what she’s like.” Daryl smirked bemusedly, nodding at a paint mare poking her head over the stall door.

Rick relaxed a little; he thought the guy was probably okay, given his blasé comment about a possibly finicky horse. It could be easy, Rick knew, to get frustrated with a touchy animal. Therefore, the fact that the guy seemed fairly good natured about it marked him as innocent until proven guilty in Rick’s book.

“Yeah, I do.” Michonne laughed in response, glancing over at Rick, possibly to ponder what he thought of Daryl. His face gave away nothing. “She’ll be sure to give the, er – advanced – riders a challenge today.”

“Yeah, she will.” Daryl muttered, shaking his head with a sly grin. He glanced at Rick again, before returning his gaze to Michonne.

“Oh! This is Rick. He might be leasing a horse soon.” Michonne waved her hand at Rick who couldn’t help but tip his hat in response, nodding at Daryl. Daryl shrugged; he seemed unimpressed. Sensing the apathy from Daryl, Michonne continued. “Anyway, don’t forget the Valerian for Nelly. She’s got a session this afternoon, and I want her chill.”

“Yeah, ’course” Daryl mumbled, clearly slightly irritated at the reminder, but trying not to show it too much. He picked up the feed buckets with a huff, and continued on his way. Rick and Michonne watched in unison as Daryl walked away.

“And remember to put it away properly, we don’t want the cats getting into it!” Michonne called after him, and he nodded his head and mumbled in response. “He may not be much for conversation, but he’s good with the horses,” Michonne shrugged apologetically, turning back to Rick.

“Well, that’s what important, isn’t it?” Rick smiled forgivingly at her. “So who’s this ‘Nelly’ you mentioned?” he asked as the pair continued walking down along the stalls.

“Oh, she’s this mare we rescued.” Michonne started, craning her head to look at one particular horse head a few stalls down, and Rick thought it might be Nelly. “She’d been inside a towed trailer when a massive storm hit, and they crashed.”

“Was everyone okay?” Rick winced; he’d seen all sorts of crashes and their aftermath in his line of work. Add a storm and a horse float and that was one hell of a disaster.

“No, actually. Only Nelly survived, and she was pretty shook up.” Rick could hear Michonne’s teeth grinding from where she stood, stopped in her tracks in front of the horse at which she’d been looking.

“I see...” He furrowed his brows, and reached to pinch the bridge of his nose. After taking a deep breath to help him distance himself from the stab of pain he experienced, he gestured to the horse she’d been eyeing in front of which they now were. “Is this Nelly then?”

“Oh, no-“ Michonne answered and she reached up to rub the horse’s head. “This is Rusty. I thought he’d be good for you, because you said you were quite rusty yourself.” She joked as she tickled the horse’s muzzle.

“Oh, okay well hello there, Rusty.” Rick eased his hand over, palm exposed for the horse to sniff his palm.

Rusty was a big horse, probably 16.5 hands, though Rick was indeed a bit ‘rusty’ at judging height. Bay coloured, Rick remembered, eyeing the horse’s black mane and tail, and rich rust-coloured body. Rusty’s ears turned toward Rick as he bumped his lips on Rick’s hand.

“I guess he approves.” Michonne commented, smiling as she watched the two.

“I guess so.” Rick replied, looking back up at her and returning the smile, chuckling a little as Rusty’s whiskers tickled his palm.

“Rusty here was a rescue as well. He’d been a racehorse for a few years in his prime, then was sort of tossed aside when he broke an ankle. It’s actually a miracle he wasn’t shot…” Michonne sighed at the concept of horses being treated like they were even lower than a car. You don’t throw away a car when it busts a tyre, you replace the tyre and continue to love it. So why couldn’t people do the same with horses? She clearly had a thorough distaste for the racing business.

“He went through a few homes before ending up with a bunch of other horses in an abandoned field when the owners disappeared. We re-homed most of the others, but somehow, no one took a shine to dear Rusty.” She rubbed between Rusty’s nostrils affectionately, and turned to look at Rick more squarely.

“He’s been here ever since, and I thought you two might hit it off, and I think I was right.” She seemed to be gauging Rick’s reaction carefully, and the smile remained steadfast upon his features.

“Well, I agree. He seems to have a fairly good nature, so far..” He began. “We’ll get to know each other some more, and see how we go. Sound alright?”

“Sounds great, actually.” Michonne visibly relaxed. It must be difficult, trying to match up riders and horses without knowing much about the rider. “It’s got a ring to it though, doesn’t it? Rick and Rusty?”

“Yeah, I suppose it does.” Rick laughed and gave Rusty another tickle on the muzzle before dropping his hand. “So, we ready to get started, then?”

“Of course. I had Daryl prepare his tack; it’s all over there.” Michonne pointed to the hitching post he’d seen earlier with the saddle and bridle and rug, along with a bucket of brushes. “You think you remember enough to get him ready yourself?”

“Hmm, maybe? We can see.” Rick wasn’t sure, but he was willing to try.

On a hook outside Rusty’s stall hung a blue halter and lead rope, which Rick took in hand, undoing the clasps. He reached for the latch on the stall door, before glancing at Michonne in question. She nodded him on and stood back to watch. He opened the stall door and slid inside, pushing an obedient Rusty back into the stall, and closing the door behind him.

He took a moment to stroke Rusty’s face, giving the horse a moment to get used to him. It felt natural, and he was glad. He started tracing small circles across Rusty’s forehead, and the bay closed his eyes, ears flopping forward, relaxed.

Positioning his body to the left, beside Rusty’s neck, he gave one more pat before bringing up the halter to press against the horse’s nose. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it up and over the bay’s head and over his ears, before latching it up against his cheek. Clipping on the lead rope under Rusty’s chin, Rick gave his neck a scratch, and turned back to the front of the stall.

Michonne was watching closely, clearly impressed.

“You know T-touch?” she asked, opening the stall door for them.

“Yeah, I guess..” Rick answered, leading Rusty through the open door. “I didn’t know that was what it was called though.”

“It’s great for making a horse relax; we use it all the time when treating rescues.” Michonne closed and latched the door behind them, and they walked over to the hitching post. From inside the office building came the sound of a phone ringing, and Michonne went to walk away, before turning back and quickly asking, “You remember your knots? I’ve got to—“

“Yeah, it’s all good – you go.” Rick answered, nodding at Michonne. She nodded with a grin and a tilt of her head, and jogged over to the building, disappearing through the back door.

“Guess it’s just you and me now, eh Rusty?” Rick asked, rubbing between Rusty’s ears, under the top strap of the halter. Rusty’s ears pointed toward him and he chuckled. He thought they would get along swell.

He brought the bay’s head around to the post, and noticed the twine tied around the top. He remembered using that many years ago; it was good to tie the lead rope to that, so in case the horse managed to break away, the twine would break, and the horse wouldn’t get injured as easily.

Glad he did indeed remember his knots, he tied the rope to the twine, ensuring it was a break away knot anyway. That way, it could be undone in a hurry if need be. One can never know, with horses. He turned his attention to the bucket of brushes, and pulled one out.

Starting with the head, he ran the brush over Rusty’s body, paying special attention to where the straps and saddle would sit. Putting away the body brush, he pulled out a comb and pulled it carefully through Rusty’s mane. He wasn’t quite game enough to do the tail just yet, but it didn’t really need it anyway.

Taking next a hoof pick, he frowned and took his place beside Rusty’s left shoulder. He ran his hand down the bay’s leg, grasping firmly just above the ankle. Rusty obediently lifted his hoof, and Rick picked out what needed and let it drop. He ducked under the horse’s head and did the front right hoof with as much ease, before turning his attention to the back legs.

Rusty wasn’t as nice with the back legs as the front. Time and time again, Rick tried to get the horse to lift his leg, and time and time again, the horse flatly refused, stomping a couple of times and swishing his tail.

A scoff informed Rick he was being watched. He lifted his head to see the guy named Daryl leaning against one of the posts reaching up to the stall awning roof. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was braced against the pole as he watched Rick, a slight smug look in his eyes.

“Wanna give me a hand, instead of just judging from a distance?” Rick asked, holding out the pick in offering.

“Fine.” Daryl answered gruffly, and threw himself off the pole. He took a wide circle, making sure Rusty could see him approaching; it was not a good idea to come up to a horse from behind.

He took the pick from Rick, who stepped back to give the guy some room. Rick watched carefully; perhaps there was a trick to getting Rusty to lift his back legs. Maybe the guy could teach him a thing or two.

“Ya gotta be a bit more forceful with ‘im sometimes. He can be a stubborn shit if you let ‘im.” Daryl instructed, taking his place at Rusty’s flank. His hand slid down Rusty’s right back leg, which the horse refused to lift, even as Daryl tugged at just above his ankle. Daryl switched hands so he was reaching over awkwardly with his left hand on Rusty’s leg, and elbowed the horse in the hindquarters.

Rick watched in awe and amazement as Rusty lifted his hind leg, allowing Daryl to pick out the grit. He also noticed, however, that Rusty flicked his tail into Daryl’s face while he worked.

“Geroff” Daryl muttered and swatted Rusty’s tail away, but Rick heard the tone of his voice, and a moment later, his chuckle. Rick smiled as he watched Daryl work; it was clear he was more comfortable around animals than people.

Daryl straightened and stretched, groaning a little. He held out the pick to Rick, who took it back, an eyebrow raised as Daryl pressed his fist into the small of his back.

“Your turn – you do the other side.” And he crossed behind Rusty’s behind, running his hand along the top of the bay’s rump.

Rick followed suit, ensuring to do the same with his hand, remembering it was important to do so the horse knew what he was doing.

He stood at Rusty’s flank and ran his hand down, trying once to grab above the ankle, but Rusty didn’t budge. He switched hands like he’d seen Daryl do, and elbowed Rusty’s hindquarters. Low and behold, Rusty lifted his foot. Rick picked it out, flicking the occasional piece of gravel, and placed it back down.

He looked up to find Daryl watching him closely, scrutinising his every move. His arms were crossed again, and he seemed to be leaning back, even though there was nothing against which to lean. Perhaps the guy just couldn’t stand straight.

“Thanks.” Rick said sincerely, and Daryl shrugged in response.

“Can’t have ol’ Rusty ‘ere givin’ ya trouble. ‘e’s gotta make a good impression, righ’?” Daryl walked over to Rusty and ran his hand down the bay’s neck. “’e needs a new family. ‘e’s all alone…” Daryl muttered so quietly that Rick wasn’t sure it was meant for him. “Ain’t ya, bud?” Daryl asked, pulling Rusty’s head around and scratching between his eyes.

Rick smiled. It seemed Daryl was definitely more comfortable around animals, or maybe he was just not very comfortable around people in general. There was something about his movements that made him seem awkward in his own skin.

Pushing aside the thoughts – he had a horse to which to attend – Rick dropped the hoof pick into the bucket and grabbed the blue saddle blanket. Daryl ducked under Rusty’s neck so he was on the other side, and not in the way, and continued petting him.

Rick dusted off the blanket, and slid it up and over Rusty’s back, pulling it up over the bay’s withers. He went back for the saddle, the black synthetic, all-purpose kind, and lifted it up, gently placing it down on top of the blanket. After ensuring the flaps underneath weren’t curled up, he went to do up the girth, until he heard a cough from Rusty’s other side.

He lifted his head back up to look at Daryl, who was pointedly looking at Rusty’s head, and not at Rick.

“Yes…?” Rick prompted, his hands resting in his hips which Daryl couldn’t see anyway, through the horse between them.

“Ya ain’t gonna pull up the rug?” Daryl asked in a way that sounded like he was tiringly teaching someone something repeatedly who didn’t get it. His gaze was still on Rusty.

Rick tugged the blanket further forward a bit, and went to do up the girth again, until he heard a great sigh. Gritting his teeth, and about to tell off the guy, he found that Daryl was ducking under Rusty’s neck to come to his side.

Lips pursed with a small glare, Daryl glanced at Rick, before reaching up to the saddle. He pushed it back and pulled out the rug, much farther than Rick had. He placed his hand between it and Rusty’s withers, pulling the saddle forward with his other.

“Ya need to fit yer hand under there. That’s how high it’s gotta be. See?” and he grabbed Rick’s hand and shoved it where his had been. “Otherwise the saddle’ll be sittin’ on ‘is withers an’ ‘e won’t like that.”

Rick pulled his hand out and sniffed out through his nostrils. He didn’t mind accepting help, but the guy didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

“Ya ain’t tacked up for a while, righ’?” Daryl asked, tweaking the saddle’s position minutely.

“Not with an English saddle, no. Only Western.” Rick answered, reaching forward to grab the girth again, but pausing in case the guy had any more ‘advice’.

“Oh.” Daryl replied, his eyebrows rising so high they were in danger of disappearing into his low hanging hair. “Well that explains it, I s’pose..” He bowed out of the way, waving his hand to indicate Rick was right to do up the girth.

Reaching under Rusty’s stomach, he pulled up the strap, feeding it through the billets, like doing up a belt. He pulled it firmly, latching up the billets, and testing the saddle; it still wobbled a bit from side to side. He tried again, and only made another hole on the strap, but the saddle still wobbled.

Grimacing, he turned and looked to Daryl, who huffed and took his place at Rusty’s flank.

“Watch ‘is head, ‘e might try n take a nip outta ya.” Daryl warned, and Rick stood a bit further away.

Daryl gave a heave, his body close to the bay’s for leverage. Muscles strained and bulged on his bare arms, his top lifting a little at the front and exposing his belly, but Rick was watching the girth carefully. Daryl let out a hiss and latched it up another two holes further than Rick had achieved.

Rick thought Daryl was done, but he watched as the guy prodded Rusty’s gut with his knuckles. Rusty threw his head around, trying to reach Daryl, but Daryl sidestepped and caught Rusty’s muzzle in his hands.

“Oi, now play nice, won’t ya?” He scratched Rusty’s nose and went back to the girth, achieving a whole three more holes up. He latched it up and patted Rusty on the rump, before dusting off his hands. “The shit was holding ‘is breath, puffing out ‘is belly.” He was complaining, but he chuckled, before returning his gaze to Rick who had been watching bemusedly.

“Told ya ‘e can be a stubborn shit.” He smirked a little, and Rick thought he should do it more; it made him look more approachable, and more attractive.

Rick didn’t know when he’d started judging other males’ attractiveness, and he shrugged off; it wasn’t like he couldn’t appreciate another guy’s features. Facial features, and maybe the bulging muscles of the guy he thought might be just a few years younger than him, if that.

He thought he’d seen the silver sheen of a scar across Daryl’s shoulder, exposed when he’d pulled up the girth. He didn’t comment, or think much by it; one was bound to pick up the occasional scar working around horses, from a bite or a fall. It was almost inevitable.

As if Daryl had heart Rick’s thoughts, he dropped his smile, and gave Rusty a pat along the neck.

“Ya gonna be alrigh’ puttin’ on ‘is bridle, or do ya need help with that, too?” Daryl seemed impatient, like Rick was his own student, and it caused Rick to stand up straighter in response.

“Nah, I think I’ll be okay with that, thanks.” And Daryl stepped aside, almost in a little bow, indicating it was Rick’s time to shine.

Rick gritted his teeth and pulled the bridle off the post, taking his position next to Rusty’s head. He hung the bridle over his shoulder, looping the reins around Rusty’s neck, in case the horse decided it was a prime opportunity to attempt an escape.

He reached up and undid the throat latch of the halter, sliding it off Rusty’s nose. He let it drop against the post as he slid the bridle slowly up over in place of the halter. The bay resisted the bit, and Rick stuck his thumb into the horse’s mouth, rubbing on his lower gums, forcing him to open his mouth. Bit in place, Rick pulled the bridle up over his head, tucking his ears under the head strap.

Once it was in place, he did up the chin strap, and the throat latch, ensuring there was enough space for him to ball his fist under Rusty’s throat – enough room for him to swallow and breathe. Rick pulled down the reins and tied them on one side to the straps where the stirrups sat high, waiting to be lowered when it was time to ride.

Clipping the lead rope to the side of the bridle so Rusty would stay in place, Rick stood back to admire his handiwork. He heard a chuckle, and turned to see that Daryl had been watching him intently.

“Guess yer not so useless, eh, Officer?” Daryl commented, and Rick wondered how the guy knew he was a cop. Of course – Daryl must’ve seen the cruiser in the parking lot on his travels about the property.

He wondered if the guy was going to have a problem with that, until his thoughts were interrupted by the return of Michonne.

“Looking good! Not as rusty as you thought, eh, Rick?” Michonne said, approaching from the building.

Rusty’s ears had perked up at hearing his name, and Michonne chuckled, reaching to scratch his cheek under the strap.

“Yeah, though I had help..” Rick admitted, nodding furtively at Daryl who looked away. Perhaps he was not used to recognition for his efforts.

“Mmhmmm..” Michonne mused, seeming unconvinced. “Daryl, did you sort out Nelly?” she asked.

“Yeah, she’ll be ‘chill’ for this arvo.” Daryl answered, using Michonne’s phrase. “Gotta go get some of the others ready though..” and he turned and slouched away, and Rick wondered if he ever stood straight when he wasn’t carrying fifty pounds of horse feed.

“Alright!” Michonne said, turning to Rick. “Think you’re ready?”

“Yeah, it’s now or never, right?” Rick answered, grinning sheepishly, and Michonne laughed.

“Ah come on, that’s not the way. Go and pick out a helmet from the tack shed—“ she pointed to a large building past the stables. “— and I’ll bring Rusty here to the round yard, and we’ll get you started, alright?”

Rick nodded and went to follow her direction, before turning back to Michonne.

“Oh, one more thing, before we go, if you don’t mind?” Rick asked, pulling out his phone. He clicked his way to the camera, and held it out for Michonne.

She took the phone, and seeing it was on the camera smiled and looked back up at him.

“For my boy.” Rick explained, sidling up to Rusty’s head and taking the lead rope in his hand.

“Sure.” Michonne answered and held up the phone. Rick posed, his head next to Rusy’s. “Alright.” Michonne confirmed, and Rick turned and gazed at Rusty, petting his forehead.

Michonne offered the phone back, and he reached out and took it, looking at the picture.

“Looks nice. Your boy’ll like it.” Michonne smiled as she unclipped Rusty from the post and led him over to the enclosure.

Rick stared at the picture for a moment after nodding at Michonne’s turned back. It was nice. Rick looked calm and serene, and Rusty’s ears were perked forward. He saved the picture to send later – it was still too early to send and not cop a scolding – and slid the phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t wait to send it to Carl, and maybe next time get a shot of the two of them with their horses.

He then head off in the direction of the tack shed, and wasn’t disappointed when he entered.

The tack ‘shed’ was more like a saddlery; bridles of saddles took up half of it, with everything from all purpose synthetic and leather, jumping, even a few western ones in the corner. There was a wall of helmets in all shapes and sizes on one side. Rick took a few minutes trying on helmets, to make sure he got a fit that was snug, but not too tight. He propped his Stetson on the hook from which he took his helmet, and went back out to the round yard where he found Michonne and Rusty.

She was mounted, trotting him around the yard in figure eights, a slow, extended gait, almost as if to show off how beautifully he could move. When she saw Rick approach, she lead Rusty over to the side and dismounted smoothly.

“Just warming him up for you,” she said, smiling widely as she petted Rusty’s neck.

“Thanks,” he said as he ducked through the metal rails of the fence, and took Rusty’s reins from her.

“Think you need a mounting block, or…” Michonne teased, nodding at the platform next to the gate.

“Hope not,” Rick replied, grinning sheepishly, as he lowered the left stirrup on its strap, and buckled his helmet.

Michonne laughed and climbed up to sit on the fence to watch as Rick attempted to mount.

After lowering the left stirrup so he could reach it, he bunched up the reins at the front of the saddle, the pommel, and lifted his left foot into the stirrup. He was facing Rusty’s rump, in correct mounting position. Getting his feel for the stirrup, and hopping a few times, he pulled himself up and twisted around, leaning over the saddle. He swung his right leg over, and fumbled for a bit finding the other stirrup, eventually getting it.

He was sitting lopsided, having lowered the left stirrup, so he pulled his foot out and leaned over to shorten the strap. He succeeded, even though Rusty took a few steps forward while he was doing so, and he planted his boot back into the newly adjusted stirrup and pulled back low on the reins, forcing Rusty into a halt.

He laughed and leaned over, patting Rusty’s neck affectionately. He looked up again to find Michonne watching closely, and Daryl in the distance leading a white horse, called a grey, to one of the hitching posts. He wondered how much of an audience he was going to get, as he saw Daryl glancing over every now and then.

“Perfect.” Michonne commented, grinning. “Now take him around a few times so I can see your seat.”

Rick nodded, and nudged his boots into Rusty’s sides, turning the reins to lead him in a circle around the yard. He found it a bit awkward at first, but before long he was sitting low and lightly in the saddle, and felt he was doing well.

He took Rusty around a few times with Michonne watching, and throwing out the occasional comment such as ‘heels down’, and ‘thumbs up, Rick’, and he took them in his stride. ‘Eyes ahead, Rick’ was repeated a few times, as he often dropped his gaze to look at Rusty’s neck as they progressed from a walk to a trot.

Rick bounced a bit in the saddle before he got the rising trot; in Western riding, he was used to just sitting through the gait. He’d found the adjustment a bit weird, but he wanted to learn English riding, as it would be better for Carl to learn, and he couldn’t wait to bring his son with him on his next visit, to join in his new hobby.

He barely thought of Lori at all, and that was just perfect, in his opinion. It was exactly why he’d wanted to return to something that they hadn’t shared in their twenty years of marriage. At least he had one place that was safe from memories of his wife. Ex-wife. He still had to get used to the new term, though they were still technically just ‘separated’, at least until the papers were officiated.

“You’re doing well, Rick,” Michonne commented from the top of the fence.

“Thanks,” he answered, reining Rusty over to her to take a short break.

He could already feel his butt hurting, and would likely be like that for a while, until he was used to it again. He didn’t want to think how his legs would feel when he finally dismounted; he’d be walking like a true cowboy, he thought.

“Time for something a bit more interesting?” Michonne prompted, jumping down from the fence, landing lightly on the balls of her boots.

“Sounds good.” Rick nodded; he could definitely do with a bit more speed.

He watched as Michonne walked over to the mounting block, and pulled it through the fence. She then climbed back through to the other side, and came over to Rick and Rusty.

“So, reckon you’re up for a canter?” she asked, reaching through the fence and patting Rusty’s muzzle.

“I reckon so, yeah. See how we go, eh?” Rick grinned sheepishly.

He hadn’t wanted to stay on the kiddie stuff all day, but he wasn’t sure how well he’d do as he was certainly still adjusting, to Rusty, to English riding, to the whole thing in general.

He didn’t know how much longer it would be before other riders started showing up. Judging by the fact that Daryl had been leading out horses to the hitching posts and tacking them up, he didn’t have long. His private lesson was soon to be at an end.

Indeed as he pondered that very thought, he heard the beginnings of other cars pulling up in the lot. He hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of the junior riders.

“Alrighty then!” said Michonne, giving Rusty one last pet before pulling her arms back through the fence. “Start slow, walk, trot then through to a canter when you’re ready, okay? Just big circles.”

Rick nodded and turned Rusty back around, nudging his heels into the horse’s flank to urge him into a walk. About halfway around the yard, he dug his heels in lightly, and Rusty obediently sped to a trot. Rick bounced a bit in the saddle before he got used to the rising trot again.

He took a few laps at a trot, ensuring he thought his rising trot was good enough, before digging his heels in again. Rusty stumbled once, his nose dropping low, and Rick nearly lost the reins. He fumbled before catching them up again, just as Rusty settled into a canter.

It was a slow lope, smooth, much smoother than the trot, and Rick was in his element. There wasn’t much difference between English and Western riding, when it came to the canter. He sat low in the saddle, riding out the slow rock of Rusty’s canter. It felt like he was on a great rocking horse, and he appreciated that the bay’s steps were well placed and precise.

This was truly why he’d returned to riding. The feel of the wind in his hair, albeit half of it was squished into the helmet, the steady gait of the horse beneath him. He felt... free.

He was free from his worries, his divorce, Lori, Shane, just – free. Each lap of the yard took more weight from his heart, from his shoulders. Instead of being crushed down into the ground by his cheating wife, his best friend betraying him, he felt light as a feather.

He felt the powerful movement of the horse’s muscles beneath him, the air cutting to let them pass through as they moved as one. It was bliss.

After what felt like an age, he caught something in the corner of his eye: Michonne waving him over. He reluctantly reduced the pressure of his heels against Rusty’s flank, pulling gently on the reins as the horse slowed to a trot. Rick bounced in the saddle again, sitting low and keeping his pressure on the reins until Rusty slowed to a walk. When they were in front of Michonne, he pulled Rusty to a halt.

Michonne was beaming, her eyes full of appreciation.

“Well done, Rick. Well done.” She commented, reaching through the fence once more to tickle Rusty’s muzzle. “And well done, Rusty!” and Rusty nickered in response, his ears flopping forward.

Rick chuckled and leaned over and gave Rusty an affectionate pet on the shoulder. After all, it hadn’t been Rick doing all the work.

“You’re doing great, Rick!” Michonne smiled up at him.

Rick glanced over and saw Daryl leaning against a post – did he really not know how to stand up straight? – watching them, a smirk upon his face and his arms crossed. Rick wondered how long he’d been watching. As if realising he’d been noticed, Daryl unfolded his arms and threw himself off the post, suddenly very busy with the half tacked up horse beside him.

“Thanks, Michonne.” Rick said earnestly. “Thanks for everything.” He met her gaze firmly, communicating his gratitude.

“You’re welcome. But remember – this isn’t for free.” She smirked, her hand coming to rest on her hip.

“I know, but still – thanks.” Rick laughed and pet Rusty one more time before glancing back at Michonne. “Think I can try with a bit more room?” He jerked his thumb behind him to the larger training field.

Michonne bit her lip for a second, before nodding in response.

“Guess so. I’m going to need this yard in about ten minutes for a lesson, anyway.” She glanced behind her to the entry way, where people had started appearing.

“Oh, what time is it?” he asked, as he glanced at his own watch anyway. His eyebrows rose in surprise; he’d been there for nearly an hour already.

“Yeah, lessons start at seven. If you want to get down, we’ll head over to the bigger yard. No riding in between yards.” She asserted, and Rick grimaced.

He hadn’t been looking forward to that, dismounting. He sighed softly, and nodded. Rules were rules; he wasn’t going to argue.

He pulled his boots out of the stirrups, let his feet hang freely, and bunched the reins together at the pommel. He’d watched Michonne do it; he knew how to do it. He just had a sneaking suspicion he was going to end up on his arse.

He leaned over, so far that his nose was nearly pressed into Rusty’s mane, and he prayed silently that the bay wouldn’t choose that very moment to thrust his head up. His right hand found the pommel, clutching the reins, and his left reached out a bit further up Rusty’s neck.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his back leg over Rusty’s rump, bumping it slightly, and threw it over the rest of the way. He fell – hard.

He didn’t quite fall on his arse, but he landed so hard on his heels that pain shot up through his spine. He grunted and clutched his lower back, his knees buckled.

“Try to land on the balls of your feet, not your heels, Rick.” Michonne advised, grimacing; she clearly knew that pain.

“I’ll do my best, thanks.” Rick grunted, rubbing his back and gingerly taking a step.

He had been right; he definitely wasn’t walking right. He led Rusty over to the gate, which Michonne opened, and he thought he must look ridiculous. Indeed, he could hear the tell-tale snort of Daryl in the distance. He pointedly avoided looking at the stable hand, for as long as he could bear.

For some reason, that wasn’t as long as he thought; he glanced over at the guy as he walked Rusty through the gate and over to the large yard.

Daryl was now chatting awkwardly with who Rick assumed was the mother of a student. He thought he was right, as a moment later, a young girl went skipping back over to the pair, buckling up her helmet.

The woman and girl were both skinny, the girl dirty blonde, and the woman what Rick assumed was prematurely grey. It was hard to judge from a distance, but he thought she might be younger than him, by a few, maybe five years at the most. Her daughter seemed about Carl’s age.

She had a careful, controlled expression, and seemed to jump at small noises and quick movements. That was possibly due to what Rick made out to be the dark shadow of a black eye. Her lip was cut open as well. She seemed to relax a bit, though, as Daryl touched her shoulder gently.

Rick wondered if they were dating, then wondered why on earth that would be his business. Everyone deserves to be happy, he thought to himself, and the Lori thoughts took hold in his mind, rooting in place.

He sighed; he’d been doing so well, keeping Lori out of his mind. Michonne looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head. He didn’t feel like sharing any of his baggage just yet.

Michonne let Rick and Rusty into the yard, Rick still awkwardly waddling and Michonne obviously trying not to laugh. She closed the gate behind them, and climbed up to the top of the fence again.

Rick pulled Rusty to a halt, and lowered the stirrup again. It was a pain, but it was definitely a lesser evil; he didn’t want to have to use the mounting block.

Swinging himself into the saddle, he grunted in pain. He was going to be even more sore tomorrow, he could tell. Michonne chuckled at his noise, and he couldn’t help but smile; he was sure he probably looked hilarious, to anyone other than him.

“Alright. Free rein, just be careful. There’s even some jumps if you feel confident enough.” Michonne said, pointing off into the distance.

Rick followed her gaze and saw where she was pointing. There were a few small jumps set up probably 600 yards across the massive field. Some were low with the bar propped up about two feet above the ground, and in a line beside them, buried in the grass so that he could barely make them out, some trotting poles. If it hadn’t been for the blue and white striped pattern, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed them.

Rick nodded, grinning widely as he turned his gaze back to Michonne. She smirked and shook her head as if he was an excited child, and he was.

He quickly leaned over to adjust his stirrup leather again, planted his boots in them, then dug his heels into Rusty’s flank, and they were off.

He urged Rusty quickly into a trot, bouncing only three times before he got the rising seat, then into a canter.

There was plenty of room to run, and he could sense that Rusty knew that as well. The bay’s gait was tense, as if he wanted to go faster, and for a moment, Rick let him. For a few seconds, they raced through the open field, wind flying at Rick’s face and he grinned. His heart was soaring, elated, and he wished, for a moment, that he’d never have to get down, never have to dismount, never have to return to reality again.

Then Carl’s face swam in his mind, covering the wallpaper of Lori, and he sobered up. Focusing on the path ahead, he noticed they were hurtling toward the opposite fence. He froze up a fraction, and immediately felt Rusty tense below him.

He worked to relax, breathing deeply, and Rusty relaxed along with him. He eased back the right rein, and Rusty’s head followed along with his body, and they swept past the fence with only about ten yards to spare.

Now facing the direction from which they’d come, Rick noticed Michonne was sitting with her arm raised in the air. He figured she was indicating he should come over; one shouldn’t wave around horses too much, for there is a saying about that. Horses shy from two things: things that move, and things that don’t. However, moving things are almost sure to spook a horse.

He slowed as they approached, putting Rusty through his paces to a trot, then to a walk, and they halted just in front of Michonne. She was glaring slightly at him.

“No galloping.” She stated simply. “We’re not insured for that.” Her voice was stern and strict, and Rick didn’t take it personally. She was protecting her business and her livelihood.

“Er – sorry..” Rick replied sheepishly. It was a pity; he’d really enjoyed the speed, and he thought Rusty had as well.

“It’s alright..” she said begrudgingly. “Just don’t do it again.”

“No problem,” and Rick went to tip his hat but found only the plastic visor of the helmet, and shrugged awkwardly. “No galloping, yes ma’am.”

Michonne’s expression softened, and she smiled, shaking her head. “Okay, go on now.” She ‘shooed’ him away, and he happily obliged.

He turned Rusty’s nose back to the field, dug his heels in, and they took off at a trot, practicing his rising. They came up to the jumps, and Rick considered it. He circled around them for a while, before turning Rusty toward them up ahead.

He’d never jumped before; it was kind of hard in a Western saddle, but the all-purpose synthetic tack Rusty had would be near perfect. He lined Rusty up, first toward the trotting poles. He braced himself a bit, but found that Rusty didn’t even jump over them, merely stepped a bit higher.

Chuckling, Rick reached down to pet the bay’s shoulder as they trotted around in a large circle. Quickly taking up the reins again, they took the trotting poles a few more times, with Rusty actually making a little jump on the last lap.

Taking Rusty on another lap around the field at a canter, ensuring not to speed up to a gallop, Rick noticed he had indeed gained an audience. Along the fence where Michonne was, stood Daryl, the woman and little girl he’d seen earlier, along with a few other new faces he couldn’t make out from so far away.

As he passed by closer on his lap, he saw that Michonne had climbed down from the fence and was talking seriously to the woman, who seemed somewhat forlorn and agitated. He noticed that the woman held her hand up to her face like she was trying to hide the black eye, looking away, and Rick wondered what had caused the injuries, but of course it was likely none of his business.

Daryl seemed to be angry about it, obvious in his posture even as he was leaning on the fence. He glanced up at Rick when he and Rusty were about twenty yards away, but looked quickly back at the two women, joining into the serious discussion.

The girl was a bit further along the fence, chatting animatedly to another little girl, the two of them in their riding gear and helmets, clearly ready for their lesson due to be starting shortly.

A few other stragglers had wandered over, some young and some more mature, nearer to Rick age, chatting amongst themselves as they watched Rick on his ride. They seemed to be nodding in approval at Rick, who blushed a bit as he circled back toward the jumps.

Spurred on by the others’ approval and feeling confident, he turned Rusty toward the row of two small jumps. He kept his heels against the horse’s flank, and prepared to lean forward slightly in the saddle.

Thankfully, Rusty knew what he was doing, and bunched up for the jump, telling Rick it was time to lean. They soared gracefully through the air, and Rick had to suppress the urge to let out a great ‘whoop!’ so as to not spook his mount. The second jump came as easily as the first, and Rick was rearing for more.

The way Rusty was nickering and almost skipping in his stride had Rick assuming he was enjoying it as well. Rick hoped he would get good enough at it that he and Carl could do it together. He wondered for a moment if Carl would pick it up as easily, and he hoped so.

Elated by their success, Rick took a moment to pet Rusty’s neck again. Regaining the reins properly, he noticed that Rusty was sweating heavily, and making the sort of hollow breathing sound that indicated he was quite exhausted. One more go at the jumps, and he’d take Rusty back for some well-deserved rest.

Rick guessed that Rusty had been stabled for a while, and thought that was sad. He definitely thought they were a good match, and was ready to sign up for some more lessons when he returned to the main buildings.

Today had simply been a trial of sorts; he was going to pay as if it was a normal lesson, but it was to see if they were compatible as horse and rider, and to see how well Rick picked it all up. He would start proper lessons next week with Carl, where he would refine his technique as Carl learned from scratch.

Taking a wide circle, they lined up once more, Rick grinning widely, but that was where it all went wrong.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but it felt like an age to Rick, as if he and Rusty were moving in slow motion.

First, his phone went off in his pocket, playing the default message tone, loud. He always had it up loud so he could hear it whenever Carl texted him, even if it was on the other side of the house. In that split second, he furiously regretted not leaving it in the car, or at least asking Michonne to hold onto it for him. He could’ve even turned the damned thing onto silent, but he hadn’t.

He was never going to make that mistake again.

Second, his modern, drilled-in instinct had him reaching for the phone, despite the fact that he was on horseback and he needed to concentrate on where he was going. The jolt of his hands on the reins resulted in Rusty’s head getting pulled to the side abruptly, and the bay didn’t like that.

If Rick had had the time to process it, he would’ve noticed the whites of Rusty’s eyes visible as his head was turned almost at a right angle. The pure fear in the horse’s eyes would’ve scared Rick out of his mind, and he might’ve seen it coming. If he’d had the time to process it, that is.

The way Rusty’s ears lay flat back against his head indicated serious stress and anger and fear. But Rick didn’t see that, didn’t notice. He was too busy looking down at his hands, trying furiously to regain his hold on the reins to free Rusty’s head.

It was too late; as he fumbled with the reins, horse and rider hurtled toward the vertical poles of the jump, veering to the side due to Rusty’s head being turned.

The combination of the scary sudden noise that drilled through his ears, and Rick’s pulling on one side of his head so that he couldn’t straighten it, had Rusty bolting. He didn’t seem to have direction, most spooked horses didn’t; he just seemed to want to get – away.

Forced by the pull on the reins, Rusty’s body twisted abruptly under Rick. They sideswiped the jump, Rick’s knee banging painfully against the vertical metal poles. Then Rusty wrenched his head to the other side, yanking the reins out of Rick’s hands, but not before he was pulled forward as he desperately tried to keep his grip.

Rusty’s shoulder seemed to drop from underneath him, he noticed, as he lost both his stirrups, and fell forward from the momentum of the reins pulling him forward out of the saddle.

The red-brown of Rusty’s body, the black of the synthetic saddle, all colours blurred in his vision as he was thrust forward, and the green-brown of the grass was suddenly closer, as the ground came hurtling up to meet his face.

Then – black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliff-hanger. Ish. I mean, y'all know Rick ain't hurt bad, right? I mean, well maybe he's hurt, but he's not fatally injured or anything - also Rusty's okay!  
> Next chapter is going to take a LOT longer to come through, because I had this one already half-way done when I posted the first, so please bear with me.  
> Also, as always, please let me know if it's too long-winded! ;A; #my main fear~


	3. Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's perspective of the day. He grunts and shrugs and huffs. Has a smoke and muses on some bad memories. Confronts Carol about her bruise, and wonders why women are so crazy. Also Daryl has a bit of trouble remembering what Rick's name is, until one little moment...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was totally going to put this chapter at when Rick wakes up, but then Daryl's day kinda wrote itself. Got a bit longer than intended, so I decided to post it as a separate chapter. Not sure if I'll keep writing in this style, Rick then Daryl. I'll see how the other chapters go, and comments about it.

Another early Saturday at Whitesburg. Daryl had been up since four, at the riding school a half hour later. The ride had been leisurely, at least. He’d thrown caution to the wind, and ridden his motorbike there without his helmet. He knew if anyone saw, he’d have his arse kicked, but he’d needed the recklessness, needed to feel the wind in his hair.

His brother’s sarcastic comments echoed through his mind, replaying the argument they’d had the night before. ‘ _Darylina too much of a fancy ass now to hang out with ol’ Merle?’_ All because Daryl hadn’t wanted to stay up ‘partying’ with his older brother.

‘ _Merle! I’ve got to work tomorrow, damnit!’_ He’d said, but Merle hadn’t wanted a lick of that, pushing and pushing at Daryl to go out with him and ‘paint the town red’, and ‘screw the job’ and ‘that nigger lady’ and the ‘fuckin’ ponies’.

Daryl had fought back, ‘ _I don’t wanna screw this up. Fuck off, Merle. And don’t fucking call her that!_ ’

In the end, Merle had cussed and huffed and left by himself, muttering about ‘family’ and ‘blood’ and how Daryl wasn’t any fun anymore since he got a job. Merle hadn’t come home before Daryl left.

Parking his bike on the kickstand, Daryl made sure the side bag was locked, helmet still inside, and headed in to work. He made quick work of bringing in most of the horses that were required for the morning lessons. Queenie though.

He’d had to practically chase her around the field. She didn’t want to come in, and he huffed as he ran through the field. He was swearing when he finally led her over to the stables. The paint mare even dug in her hooves, and he had to haul her into the stable.

When she was finally locked away in her stall, she poked her head out over the door and nudged at his side. He crossed his arms, determined not to bow to her, but it wasn’t long before he turned around and scratched her forehead.

“Ya shit, Queenie.” He chuckled, his voice gruff, and she snorted in response.

Leaving Queenie, he went into the feed shed to start preparing the horses’ breakfast. He checked the chart as he went, though he mostly knew it by heart by now, adjusting helpings for different horses’ dietary requirements. He made up six buckets, and took three for one round.

He caught sight of a freshly woken Michonne on his first round, and she pulled him aside for a moment.

“Got someone coming in before lessons this morning. Can you bring in Rusty and get his tack ready, Daryl?” she asked, very business-like as she prepared for the day.

“Sure,” Daryl grunted. He didn’t know who thought they were so special they could come before lessons, but he shrugged, and continued on his way, Michonne striding in the opposite direction, tapping away at her tablet schedule.

After making his three feed drops, he collected Rusty’s halter and lead rope, and headed out to the far field. Poor Rusty, Daryl thought, as he collected the docile bay from the field. He felt sorry for the bay, all alone and abandoned and unwanted. Much like himself. Except for Merle, of course, but as he was more trouble than good, did he count? Probably.

He took an extra minute to give Rusty’s neck a good rub, before Rusty was nosing at his pocket hopefully.

“Can’t hide nothin’ from ya, can I, Rusty?” And Daryl reached into his pocket and pulled out the carrot he’d smuggled over. He held it flat on his palm, and Rusty practically pushed him over to get it, his muzzle tickling Daryl’s palm as he did.

Once Rusty was safely locked away in his stall, Daryl set to preparing his tack. He lugged out the saddle, blanket tucked between it and his chest, and bridle over his shoulder, then the bucket of grooming brushes.

With Rusty’s tack ready for Mr. Comes In Before Lessons, Daryl went back into the feed shed and collected the next round of feed buckets. When he was carrying the buckets alone the line of stalls, the occasional so far un-fed horse reaching their head over the doors at him and the food, he saw Michonne walking with some guy, and waving him over.

He felt the guy’s gaze boring into him. It made him feel uncomfortable, like he was being judged. He didn’t like being judged.

“All going right, Daryl?” Michonne asked him, and he set the buckets down for a moment, seeing as he was being interrupted in his rounds. They were heavy as sin.

“Yeah, ‘s alright,” he answered, and he looked the guy up and down, before returning his gaze to Michonne. “Queenie gave me a bit of trouble bringin’ her in, but y’know what she’s like.” He smirked nodding over at Queenie.

He had a good thing going at Whitesburg, Michonne giving him a chance and all. He didn’t often get chances like this, being a Dixon, and white trash, and a redneck, and all those lovely words he often heard when talking about job prospects with his brother. He didn’t want to mess it up.

“Yeah, I do,” Michonne responded with a laugh. “She’ll be sure to give the, er – advanced – riders a challenge today.”

“Yeah, she will.” Daryl agreed, shaking his head as he muttered, sly grin at the amusing prospect of her chucking a rider if they didn’t treat her just like a queen – how she liked. His eyes flickered once more to the guy, before squaring his gaze at Michonne.

“Oh! This is Rick. He might be leasing a horse soon.” Michonne informed Daryl.

He saw the guy tip his hat; who the hell was he? Who the hell tips their hat. Daryl shrugged, unimpressed. He wondered how long it would take the ‘cowboy’ to fall off. Then he wondered if any of the instructors would be up for making a bet with him on it.

“Anyway, don’t forget the Valerian for Nelly. She’s got a session this afternoon, and I want her chill.” Michonne reminded Daryl, and he bristled at that.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he mumbled, irritated. He huffed as he picked up the feed buckets to continue on his rounds. He had in fact, already prepared Nelly’s Valerian, in one of the buckets he was carrying at that very moment.

Hearing Michonne call after him about the cats, he only nodded his head and mumbled. What did she take him for? He knew the damn cats would go crazy should they get into the Valerian. It was like catnip, but worse – most cats were affected by it, unlike catnip.

He was a bit irritated at that, so when he was done with his feed round, he headed back out to the parking lot to his bike to get a smoke, after he’d realised he’d left them in his side bag. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the cop car.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he looked around wildly, expecting to see some officer heading toward him, cuffs ready, for something that Merle had done to get him in trouble. He was no stranger to being arrested because Merle was on parole and needed somewhere to hide his stash when the red and blues started flickering.

When he finally calmed down, and noticed that no, the red and blues were not flickering, and that the car was in fact parked and off, he huffed. Seeing as that was the only new vehicle in the lot, he figured it must belong to Mr Comes In Before Lessons. Rick, he thought Michonne said the guy’s name was. Or Dick. Or Brett, or something. Whatever – guy was a cop. What did it matter to Daryl what his name was?

He shrugged to himself as he pulled his smokes out of the side bag, and lit one up with his Zippo lighter. Putting the packet in his arse pocket this time, he went over and leaned on the parking lot fence. There was no smoking near the horses, a very enforced rule. He didn’t mind. The thought of a cigarette cherry getting too close to hay or something like that kind of made him shudder, anyway.

His first childhood home had gone up in flames, along with his ma who had drunk herself silly, and passed out with a lit cigarette between her lips. He didn’t need another place going up, so he was always very careful to butt out.

The memories of his father punishing him for letting his ma get that way while he had actually just been out playing with some neighbourhood kids, was enough of a reminder. That, and a special scar just above his waistline, from his daddy's belt.

That was enough thinking of that, though. He dropped the half-done cigarette onto the ground, twisting his boot over it, for longer than was strictly necessary. He didn’t like to take chances.

Walking back to the stables, Daryl saw that Brett guy grooming Rusty. He was fairly on schedule for the morning, so he leaned against one of the stable posts, and observed.

He watched at Dick picked out Rusty’s front hooves, then tried for the back. He watched as time and time again, Rusty didn’t let him. He couldn’t help it – he scoffed.

Then Rick asked him for help, and he acquiesced, and threw himself off the pole. He took a wide berth around Rusty, making sure the horse knew he was coming, and took the pick from Rick’s outstretched hand.

He chastised the guy briefly, before turning his attention to Rusty’s hoof. He tried the normal way – to show Dick what he was doing wrong. As predicted, Rusty didn’t budge, so he switched hands on the pick, and elbowed Rusty in the hindquarters. He caught Rusty’s hoof as it lifted, and started to pick it out. Rusty responded by flicking his tail in Daryl’s face.

“Geroff,” Daryl muttered, swatting Rusty’s tail away and chuckling. The shit. When he was done, he straightened, and groaned. Those damn feed buckets were heavy, and so was Rusty’s hind leg.

He handed the pick back to Brett, instructing him that it was his turn for the other side, and crossed around Rusty’s hindquarters, hand brushing over the horse butt so he knew where Daryl was. He stood to the side, and watched as Mr. Cop proceeded to copy his exact movements for lifting Rusty’s hind hoof.

After the successful attempt, Daryl was surprised at the guy’s gaze and sincere thanks. He shrugged. He wasn’t used to being thanked. He was getting it more and more these days, ever since he’d been working at Whitesburg, but it still weirded him out.

“Can’t have ol’ Rusty ‘ere givin’ ya trouble. ‘e’s gotta make a good impression, righ’?” he commented, going over to pet Rusty’s head. “’e needs a new family. ‘e’s all alone…” he said, more to Rusty and himself than the cop. “Ain’t ya, bud?”

He was lost in the feeling of Rusty’s appreciation at his pats, but he ducked under the horse’s neck so the guy could tack up. The movement of the saddle on Rusty’s back caught his eye, and he gave a sidelong glance, watching as the guy went to do up the girth. He coughed, shaking his head.

“Yes…?” Came Brett’s voice from the other side of Rusty.

“Ya ain’t gonna pull up the rug?” Daryl asked exasperatedly.

The guy tried – Daryl should’ve given him that, but instead he sighed and ducked under Rusty’s head. He glared at the guy briefly, before turning to Rusty, and pulling the rug much higher, his hand under the rug for measurement.

“Ya need to fit yer hand under there. That’s how high it’s gotta be. See?” he instructed the guy, grabbing his hand and putting it where his own had been. “Otherwise the saddle’ll be sittin’ on ‘is withers an’ ‘e won’t like that.”

Gee, didn’t the guy know that? He pondered as he felt his hand tingling where it had touched the other guy’s. That was weird. Maybe there had been some static electricity between Rusty and the blanket.

“Ya ain’t tacked up for a while, righ’?” he mused, tweaking the position of the saddle, and then stepping back for Rick to get to the girth.

“Not with an English saddle, no. Only Western.” Came the answer. Daryl was surprised, though he didn’t know why. In the South it was common for people to learn Western, though that was less and less over the last few decades. He wondered when the last time the guy had ridden was.

“Oh.” His face displayed his surprise. “Well that explains it, I s’pose..” He realised Rick was waiting for either more advice or chastisement, or his approval. He waved Rick on and stepped aside.

He watched as Rick got a few loops of the girth, but the saddle was still loose. Another hole, but the saddle once again wiggled dangerously from side to side. Then he turned to look at Daryl, who huffed and took his place by Rusty’s side.

“Watch ‘is head, ‘e might try n take a nip outta ya.” He warned, and managed to get another few loops on the girth. He frowned, furrowing his brows, and jabbed Rusty in the gut with his knuckles. Rusty responded by swinging his head around and trying to bite Daryl, but he caught the horse’s muzzle in his hands.

“Oi, now play nice, won’t ya?” he cooed to the horse, giving his nose a scratch. Another try at the girth, and three more loops, and the saddle no longer wobbled. He patted Rusty’s rump, then dusted off his hands. “The shit was holding ‘is breath, puffing out ‘is belly.” He said with a chuckle, returning his gaze to Rick.

“Told ya ‘e can be a stubborn shit.” Daryl said with a smirk. Rick was watching him intently, clear blue eyes full of – something. It made Daryl uncomfortable. He dropped his smile, and returned to patting Rusty’s neck.

“Ya gonna be alrigh’ puttin’ on ‘is bridle, or do ya need help with that, too?” Daryl was impatient to get away, to go do something else. Rick’s presence felt strange, welcoming. Daryl wasn’t used to that.

“Nah, I think I’ll be okay with that, thanks.” Came Rick’s reply, and Daryl backed off to let him do the bridle.

“Guess yer not so useless, eh, Officer?” Daryl commented, after Rick had successfully put on the bridle. Rick gave him a questioning look, and Daryl became uncomfortable again. The guy’s gaze bored into him, almost challenging him about the cop thing.

Thankfully, Michonne interrupted, and commented appreciatively at Rick’s work. Daryl was surprised when Rick gave him credit for helping, and he looked away, until Michonne spoke to him, asking if he’d sorted out Nelly.

He replied that he had, and muttered about needing to sort out some of the other horses. He turned and strode away, before he could be accosted or ‘thanked’ again.

He continued in his work, bringing out the horses that would be needed for the first lesson. It was novice riders first, so it was the smaller and more docile horses. Push-button ponies, some called them. Meant that a bomb could go off and they wouldn’t blink. Waste of time, if you ask Daryl. Where’s the fun in riding a horse with no spirit?

When he was leading out a little grey mare, Misty, he glanced over and saw Rick was mounted in the round yard, and was looking his way. He quickly turned his attention back to Misty, and tied her up to the hitching post.

He didn’t know why the guy’s gaze kept making him feel uncomfortable, like Rick could see right through him. He pushed away the thought, and continued bringing out the horses and ponies. When he was halfway through tacking up Minnie, a chestnut mare, he looked over to the yard again, and saw that Rick and rusty were at a canter.

He took a small break – he had time, though he’d heard the cars start pulling up for the first lessons. He leaned against the nearest post, crossed his arms, and watched for a moment. Rick looked like he was very much enjoying himself. There was a smile on his face, the first carefree smile Daryl had seen on him.

Rick’s seat was fairly good, Daryl noticed, even from far away. He wondered if he’d be seeing the cop often, and remembered Michonne’s comment about the guy maybe leasing a horse. The thought kind of cheered him up, but he didn’t know why. And of course, it was at that moment that he noticed Rick pull Rusty to a halt, and look over at him.

Dropping the smirk he didn’t know he’d been making, he busied himself with poor Minnie, standing there with a saddle on without the girth done up. He was just finishing up with Minnie when someone coming in his direction caught his eye.

He looked up, and saw Carol and Sophia walking toward him.

“Hey kid,” he nodded to Sophia as she ran past him toward the tack room. “Don’ run!” he called after her. “Ye’ll scare the horses!” and she awkwardly stumbled to a walk, giving him a sheepish grin.

“Hey Daryl.” Carol greeted him as she approached.

“Carol.” He nodded back to her. “Trackin’ alrigh’?” he asked, taking in her jumpy demeanour, fresh black eye and cut lip.

“Just fine, thanks.” She replied carefully.

Daryl knew she wasn’t fine. Her husband, Ed, had been at it again, by the looks. Merle often told him it was none of his business, whenever he’d mentioned it to his brother. He’d stopped mentioning it after that.

He was going to say something, when Sophia came bounding back to them, securing her helmet in place. He decided to leave the ‘talk’ for later. The kid didn’t need to hear that shit.

“Ya ready fer yer lesson, kid?” he asked, wiggling her helmet on her head.

“Yeah!” she replied, excited and timidly swatted his hand away.

He scoffed, and returned his gaze to Carol, who was watching them intently. He didn’t like the look in her eyes: longing and regretful.

Their silent exchange was interrupted by the arrival of a few other riders, and the novice instructor, Charlie.

“Morning, Daryl,” the blonde chirped, way too bright and enthusiastic for so early on a Saturday, her British accent ringing through the air.

“Charlie,” he nodded at the young woman, and he noticed Carol glaring at Charlie in the corner of his eye.

Women. What the actual fuck. Crazy, the whole lot of them, in Daryl’s opinion.

“That’s the guy who might be leasing Rusty, yeah?” Charlie nodded to the large arena, Rick cantering around with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“Guess so.” Daryl shrugged.

“Mommy, it looks like he’s gonna jump! I wanna watch!” Sophia tugged on her mother’s sleeve excitedly.

“Okay, sweetie, let’s go,” Carol replied, and draped her hand over Sophia’s shoulder to walk over to the round yard.

Sophia shrugged it off, muttering about it being ‘not cool’, and ran off to join one of her friends at the fence. Carol sighed and grimaced at Daryl, who shrugged. He didn’t know kids.

“Come on!” Charlie beamed, and looped her arm through Daryl’s. He tried to swat her away, but her grip was vice-tight. He sighed and allowed her to drag him over, catching Carol’s blazing glare in the corner of his eye.

Fuckin’ women, he thought. He knew Charlie was a lesbian anyway, but apparently that didn’t matter to Carol, married or not.

When they got to the fence, Charlie finally released him, and greeted Michonne, who climbed down from the fence to join in conversation. Her gaze swept over the rest of the audience, and lingered on Carol’s black eye.

“Carol..” Michonne began, turning squarely to the woman, gaze intense on her eye.

“No, it’s nothing,” Carol began, turning away and hiding her face with her hand.

“It ain’t nothin’, Carol! Why ya gotta be so stupid?” Daryl interjected, still leaning on the fence and gripping the pole tightly in his fingers. If Michonne was going to bring it up, he wasn’t going to stand by the sideline and act all nonchalant about the woman’s stupidity and pain. He couldn’t help but flicker his gaze up at Rick as he rode blissfully ignorant around the field.

“It ain’t none of your business!” Carol replied, glancing furtively along the fence where Sophia was far enough away to not hear.

“What was it this time, huh? Dinner ain’t ready in time?” Daryl had wrenched himself away from the fence, glaring at Carol. “Looked at the fucker wrong? Jeez, Carol when you gonna leave that fucker?” he swung out his arm, like Ed was right there and he wanted to punch the guy in the face.

Carol looked about to cry when Charlie, Sophia, and Sophia’s friend gasped in horror. Michonne and Daryl wrenched their gaze to the field, and saw what was going down. Rick was going down.

Quick as lightning, Michonne and Daryl threw themselves through the fence, running across the field, over to Rick and Rusty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all don't mind the inclusion of my OC, Charlie. In tumblr RP she's Daryl's 'bestie', meaning that he tolerates her shit, and she tolerates his. It's a brotp. Charlie's brother and girlfriend are gonna make an appearance later too, so uh yeah.. The story's not gonna be centered around the OCs, so I hope no one minds, but Charlie's brother is going to make for some interesting plot angst later.


	4. Fall & Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick assesses the damage of his fall, then gets back in the saddle. Daryl scoffs and grunts a bit more, and Michonne is kind and non judgemental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up!! I had it half finished, then I had computer problems, and phone problems, and basically had to re-write half the damn thang. Not to mention I've been working a bit on another fic because the plotbunny won't leave me alone - and lost half of that too, from the phone problem, as I generally write up a lot of stuff on my breaks at work, and the memo app didn't sync orz. I'm determined not to post anything of this new one until I've got a lot more though, so y'all aren't waiting on my slow-ass updates like you are here.  
> Also sorry for a short chapter!

The black slowly faded, and Rick noted a number of things.

First, he became aware of assorted pains in his body. There was a dull thud in his head. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever experienced, not by a long shot, but it was enough that he winced as he tried to move. He figured that the helmet had saved him from the worst of it, and for that he was thankful.

He tried to sit up, bracing his hands against the grass under him, and experienced a sharp lance of pain through his leg. It wasn’t where he’d bashed his knee against the jump, though that hurt too, it was closer to his hip, and he figured he must’ve landed on it. Better that that his neck, he thought.

Second, he felt a hand carefully pressed against his shoulder, making his rise to a sitting position slower. One hand still braced against the ground, the other raised to rub his face, helmet mostly in the way.

“Easy, Rick,” Michonne’s voice rang through his head though he could tell the tone was soft. “Slowly…”

He nodded, his eyes still clenched shut, and his head spun a little. He’d take it slow, sure. Gradually he came to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees. When the world wasn’t spinning quite as much, he opened his eyes, blinking blearily. As his eyelids fluttered, the scene came into focus.

He was on the ground, probably twenty yards from the jump – had he really fallen that far off Rusty? Michonne was right by him, gazing upon him with mingled concern and judgement. She angled her head, probably to get a better look at his eyes to see how lucid he was.

In the background, he could see his entire audience hanging off the fence, gawking intently. He groaned; he’d been the circus of the day. He was hurting, and he was mildly embarrassed. Off to the side, he saw Daryl with Rusty.

Daryl had hold of Rusty’s reins, and was petting him, calmly speaking to him, softly, soothing him. The horse was a bit jittery, but settling down quickly. As Rick watched, trying to keep his vision steady, Daryl turned to glare at him.

Rick groaned again. He had been a fool. Why the hell had he kept his phone on him, not on silent? The glare from Daryl said it all. He was an idiot.

“Your leg okay?” Michonne asked, and he returned his gaze to the woman.

“Yeah, hurts, but I’ll be okay,” Rick answered, gingerly straightening his leg out. He winced, but the pain was manageable.

“Doesn’t look broken. Good. You should try to stand up – _slowly_.” Michonne held her hand out to help him.

He took the hand, and she hauled him up to his feet. He swayed a bit, mostly from the momentum, but he held Michonne’s hand tight to steady himself.

“Alright, you ready to get back on, Rick?” Michonne gazed at him with concern.

Of course. Fall of a horse, and get back on. That’s the rule, right?

“I think so – if he’ll have me.” Rick answered sheepishly, gaze flickering over to Rusty and Daryl. Daryl was scowling at him. He’d rarely felt so judged before in his life.

He made to move toward Rusty and Daryl, but felt Michonne’s hand stay him. He turned his gaze to the woman, who was standing with her other hand on her hip. She released his shoulder, and held her hand out in waiting.

“Oh-“ Rick remembered, and dug into his pocket for the damn phone that had caused the whole mess to begin with. He’d got a text from Carl, who must be up by now watching his Saturday morning cartoons.

[Morning Dad. How’s the day going?]

He half grinned, half grimaced, bemused and irritated. At himself, of course – Carl didn’t know what trouble his text message had caused.

He handed the phone over to Michonne, who made quick work of turning it on silent, and placed it into her back pocket. He’d reply to the text later.

He took the few steps over to Daryl and Rusty, and Daryl begrudgingly handed Rusty's reins to him, and he took them with an apologetic smile. Daryl grunted and jutted out his chin, before circling around Rick to Rusty's shoulder, leaning down awkwardly to cup his hands in front of him.

Realising the guy was offering him a boost, Rick acquiesced – he wasn't sure he could mount under his own strength right now anyway. He stepped lightly onto Daryl's joined hands, and he was pushed up and he swung his right leg over Rusty's back.

Daryl backed off after petting Rusty's neck once quickly, and joined Michonne a few feet away as Rick wiggled in the saddle, testing his seat. His leg hurt a bit, but it was manageable, so he shrugged and looked over at Daryl.

“Thanks.”

Daryl grunted again and turned to Michonne who shook her head at the pair of them.

“Okay, Rick. Just take it slowly. You can canter again if you think you're alright, but no jumps, hey?” She smirked and he couldn't help but return it.

“No jumps. Got it.”

Rick leaned to pet Rusty's neck as he gently dug his heels into the horse's flank. They took off at a slow, jerky walk. Realising Rusty was nervous because he could sense Rick's anxiety, he worked to calm down. Taking slow breaths and just working on his seat and posture, Rusty began to calm as well, and after a moment, he urged the horse into a trot.

Michonne and Daryl were watching him closely, walking back to the fence where thankfully, most of the audience were dispersing to lessons.

He quickly found his rising trot, though it hurt his leg more, so after a few more paces, he nudged Rusty's flank once more and sat back down in the saddle. Rusty took off in a slow canter, and the pair slipped into a steady pace.

By the time he made it back from his lap, Michonne and Daryl were at the fence on the other side, still watching him. He'd taken the long way around, so by the time he got back, there was no one else waiting for him.

As he approached, he slowed to a trot and bounced for a while before returning to a walk, finally coming to a halt in front of the pair.

“How'd you go, Rick?” Michonne asked, a neutral expression on her face.

“Better. Glad you made me get back on. Thanks.” Rick smiled apologetically as he rubbed Rusty's neck.

“Good,” Michonne replied, allowing a smile to grace her face as she took in Rusty's condition.

“I'd say you could go for another lap if you like, but it looks like Rusty's just about beat.” She nodded to his sweaty side, heaving with hollow breaths.

“Yeah, no problem. Rest time for Rusty.”

Daryl scoffed lightly at Rick's minor alliteration. He had remained silent for the rest of the exchange, so Rick was glad the guy wasn't too pissed off at him. Didn't know why it would have bothered him, though.

He watched as Daryl untangled his arms from the fence and ducked his head as he walked away toward the round yard. The blonde woman Rick had barely noticed earlier was teaching some kids, including the little girl to whom Daryl had been talking. The mother was watching a little farther away on a fold-up chair under a small shaded area with a few other parents.

Returning his attention to poor Rusty, Rick slipped his boots out of the stirrups and dismounted, much more gracefully this time, on the balls of his feet. He slid the reins off Rusty's neck and started leading the horse over to the gate, walking extremely bowlegged and with the occasional grunt from the pain in his leg.

“Much nicer dismount, Rick,” Michonne complimented him as she opened the gate and let them through.

“Thanks, Michonne.” Rick nodded and smiled at her as they approached the hitching post and Rick tied Rusty up.

“I've gotta run. Maggie, my advanced instructor, just arrived and I wanted to go over some things with her before her lesson. You alright to untack, or you want me to find Daryl to help?”

“Nah, I'll be fine. You go.” Rick couldn't see Daryl around, anyway. He didn't know where the guy disappeared off to, but that shouldn't matter. He didn't know why it did.

“'Kay. Back in a bit to talk some business.” Michonne petted Rusty's neck and went to head off, before turning around and giving Rick back his phone. "Oh - here. You should send that picture to your boy. He'd like it." Then she grinned and walked off to meet the young brunette woman who had just arrived, and Rick assumed her to be Maggie.

“Just you and me again hey, Rusty?” Rick tucked his phone into his pocket to deal with after Rusty, and scratched the horse's forehead. He went about untacking the horse, wondering – and wondering why he was wondering – where Daryl had gone off to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments and critique are always welcome, and I hope you can bear with me as I'm mostly making this up as I go, though I do have a lot of big plot moments planned, it's just getting from moment to moment that's the problem.


	5. Friend Material?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After putting away Rusty and his tack, Rick gets to know Michonne a little bit, and shares a few words with Daryl after a lovely, if mischievous phone call with Carl. Also - BUTTONS! 8D <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and set myself a vague schedule for updating my fics, alternating between this and [Precious Polaroid](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3404873). I'm not making any promises, but I'm determined to get better at updating them both. I really want to move this one along faster, but there's so many moments to get down that I feel it just can't be rushed. I kinda lament that the damn thing's already nearly 25k words and they're not even really friends yet, but I do still want to keep it a slow burn. I just hope y'all can stick with me. I promise it will get more interesting later! ;A;

Untacking didn't take as long as tacking up. Before long, Rick had Rusty back in his stall, and his tack back in the shed along with his helmet in exchange for his Stetson. He'd found the spots for Rusty's tack easily enough, all meticulously labelled with each horse's name, some with a few names. When Michonne returned from her talk with Maggie, and came to find him, he had his phone out, shooting off a text to Carl, accompanying the picture of him and Rusty.

   [Going well. I'll call you soon. Say hello to Rusty, my trusty steed.]

He looked up from the phone, and put it in his pocket, still on silent. He had decided to never have the damn thing off silent at the riding school at all, ever again. Some lessons have to be learned the hard way, and he didn't want his phone causing a fall for someone else.

Michonne was smiling softly at him, and he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Just that look – I'm guessing you were messaging your boy?” She said, nodding over to the fence of the round yard with the kids' lesson.

“Yeah..” Rick replied, walking with her and joining her by the fence. “Miss him a lot. My wife and I – ex wife now, I guess – haven't sorted anything out and I don't see him much. Yet.” he added firmly.

He glanced at Michonne and saw a small frown on her face, a knowing frown.

“I know how that is. My own kid, Andre, he's at his dad's today, and even though it's only for a few days I miss him like hell.”

Rick nodded, and returned his gaze to the lesson, the blonde woman urging the kids through their trot, and throwing out the occasional critique on their seat.

“Divorced...?” he enquired of Michonne gently, indicating she didn't have to answer if she didn't want to.

“Nah.” She replied, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head softly, her dreadlocks swinging over her shoulders. “Never married. Was engaged though, until I found out he was screwing his best friend..” She finished quietly.

“Ah. I definitely know how that feels..” Rick grimaced, feeling a sudden kinship with the woman. “She still with your ex?”

A pause, before Michonne answered, as if choosing her words carefully.

“Yeah. He is.” She sighed, and Rick's eyebrows raised before he could stop them.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She repeated, raking her fingers through her dreads, clearly irritated. “Never even knew he was bi. Whole time we were together. Never told me, even when I told him I was.”

Rick was finding he felt more comfortable talking with Michonne more and more every second, and his respect for the woman was mounting. The way she was so open with him, trusting, even though they barely knew each other.

He also thought it took a hell of a lot of guts to admit to being anything other than heterosexual. In the South, it wasn't as easy as in the northern states. Rick had been brought up Christian, as had Lori. They never actively went out of their way to do or say anything about the few 'wonky' people they knew, though Lori got a lot more fired up about it than he did. He always had a very 'it doesn't affect me so why should it even bother me?' kind of attitude. Lori disagreed, often saying something along the lines of 'what they do with their private time, I don't care. But don't shove it down my throat in public!'

It was one of the woman's many vices that Rick hated. But, he was free of her now. Damn, was that how he was thinking of it these days? Free of it – her? It made him feel guilty all over again, and now pissed off because this was _his_ day damnit!

“That's rough..” he glanced at Michonne and saw her frowning.

He might have been getting ahead of himself, but he kind of saw them becoming fast friends. That would be nice, he thought. He didn't really have any friends, these days. It was lonely.

His pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his phone.

   [Awww!!! He's cute!! Can't wait to see my pony! : > \- talk to you soon then!]

“Yeah. Them's the breaks, I guess.” Then she shrugged. Perhaps she and her ex had been separated for much longer than he and Lori. “So what does your boy think of Rusty?”

“He – oh, Carl. His name is Carl – thinks Rusty's cute.” Rick grinned at Michonne who returned it, and he was glad that the depressing turn of conversation was mostly gone.

He didn't mind talking about it too much – it was easier than with Shane or anyone else who had known him for long. Although, maybe it was just because Shane was a huge factor in it all, that it hurt to talk about it with his ex best friend.

“He said he can't wait to see his pony.” Rick tilted his head, his eyebrows raised slightly as he pushed away the bad thoughts and focused on the present; the riding school, Rusty, his conversation with Michonne that she'd said would be about business.

“Oh! Right. The one I'm thinking about for Carl is actually over there-” Michonne pointed to a small black pony one of the kids was riding. “His name is Buttons.”

“Buttons?” Rick asked incredulously, glancing back to Michonne before turning back to the pony.

“Yeah,” Michonne chuckled with a small shrug. “The kids all got together and voted on a name. He was a rescue as well. Most of our horses are rescues, though of course some of the rescues don't have the right nature, so we re-home them. But yeah, Buttons – Daryl found him, actually, on a hunt.”

Rick shook his head and stared at Michonne. “Hunt?”

“He goes hunting in the woods. Likes to shoot stuff with a crossbow or something.” Michonne shook her head with a bemused grin. “Mostly just squirrels and pests, and only other game when they're _strictly_ within season, I've been informed.” She nodded her head appreciatively at the law-abiding citizen who worked for her, but still with that air of 'this guy shoots stuff with a crossbow and that's a bit weird but whatever'.

“Poor pony must've been out in the wild for ages, he was very wild. But Daryl broke Buttons in himself, and I've rarely seen such a transformation from near wild horse to push-button pony in all my years of rescue.”

As Rick watched closely, he saw a look come over her. He couldn't quite place it, but he thought it had something to do with the satisfaction of seeing such a wild thing becoming a trustworthy companion.

“Huh.” Rick mused, turning back to watch the lesson, and Buttons.

Most of the kids were at a jerky trot, but Buttons didn't seem bothered in the slightest. He even seemed to prance, with a natural grace, head held high and proud at carrying his rider, and Rick was struck with the image of the pony wild and untamed, thrashing about in the woods.

Then he pictured Daryl atop the pony, rolling with the jerks and bucks of a horse trying to dislodge its rider and the redneck sticking to the bare back like tar, moving with his own grace with a few grunts and curses thrown in for good measure.

And then Rick had a burning desire to see the man ride.

“Daryl ride much?” he found himself asking, nonchalantly as possible, as though it was just a passing thought.

“Often, yeah. Mostly on trail rides though. He doesn't like to be cooped up in a 'cage' as he calls the yards. Even the field is 'too small' to contain him." She scoffed. "Guess he just likes the woods.” Michonne nodded over toward the field, past the fences to the woods behind, where they held the trail rides.

“He's gonna be trying to re-break a horse this afternoon though, for a client.” Michonne turned to meet Rick's gaze once more, and was met with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

The only memories Rick had of breaking in horses were from many years ago. It could be a sad thing to watch, the horse bucking around, trying to get the saddle off, one hoof tied up to stop it. He didn't know if he wanted to see that.

“Oh – er. I'm guessing you've only seen the old method?” Michonne asked, clearly seeing his disquiet.

“Old method?” He didn't know there was a new one.

“Yeah, you know – tying up the hoof, whip on 'em and all that?” She clarified.

“Yeah.” He said simply, not liking his memories of such a harsh training method.

“Well, it's not like that anymore. Some places still do that, I guess, but more and more breakers are adopting the new way. Much more calm. Using trust instead of fear to break the horse.” Michonne smiled, but there was a seriousness, an insistence to her tone. “If you stick around, you could watch if you want? It sure is a sight to see.”

“Maybe.” Rick conceded offhandedly, but he was actually quite keen to witness it, and even more, to witness Daryl doing it.

He found he wanted to know more and more about Daryl the more he knew, small as it may be, his pool of knowledge of the gruff redneck. Daryl was amazing with horses, less so with people, seemed close with the timid woman and was somewhat okay with kids, apparently went hunting in the woods, and didn't like to ride in small yards. He was a somewhat impatient teacher, though willing to lend a hand when sincerely asked, didn't like being thanked that much, knew little tricks for stubborn horses, smirked at horses who gave him grief, and also couldn't seem to stand straight. And Rick was pretty damn sure Daryl rode the motorbike that was parked out front.

It was like a checklist, and Rick wondered why he was making it. Pros and cons for whether he wanted to make a friend of the guy? Who knew. He figured he could use some more friends either way, and though Whitesburg was a pretty good place to make them.

It was just a perfect bonus that Lori surely didn't know anyone he'd met and would meet there.

“You staying for lunch, at least?” Michonne asked, breaking Rick out of his long train of thought. “We put on a little sausage sizzle almost every Saturday. Helps to raise some money for the rescue, which can be an expensive adventure, sometimes. Expensive, but worth it.”

The look in her dark eyes told Rick she'd never thought otherwise.

“Oh – definitely.” He nodded as his stomach growled.

He'd forgotten to get breakfast in the morning, surviving only on his coffee. And it was then he realised he hadn't had dinner the night before either; he was pretty sure that as much as people like Shane claimed it, beer didn't count as a meal.

“Hmm.. Not sure if you'll last until lunch, Rick.” Michonne commented on his still groaning stomach. “There's a vending machine in the office. Go get yourself a pretzel or something, and you can chill and watch the lessons for a bit. Maggie's starting her lesson for the advanced riders soon – you'll be in her group – and until then you can see what you think of Charlie. She'll be Carl's instructor.”

As she spoke, she indicated both of the instructors: Maggie was standing, chatting with the parents watching the beginners' lesson; and Charlie was the blonde woman instructing it. They were both pretty young women, around their early twenties, Rick guessed, and he wondered just how much of a woman's world it was, these days.

“Yeah. Maybe I better..” Rick conceded, pressing his hand against his rumbling stomach.

“Sounds good.” Michonne nodded. “Go get a snack in you, and watch the lessons. After you've seen some of the stuff you'll be going through, we can talk about lessons and contracts for leasing if you're still interested. Now go-” and she gently shoved his shoulder, pushing him toward the office.

Rick chuckled. “I'm going I'm going,” and he headed off to the building, the occasional limp from his bung leg. He was halfway there when he remembered he'd left his wallet in the cruiser. So he went around the building toward the parking lot. He decided to call Carl while he got his snack, and pulled out his phone. He dialled the number and held the phone to his ear while he walked, listening to the dial tone. After a few rings, his son picked up.

“Dad!” Carl shouted into the phone, and Rick jumped and held it away from his ear with a pained grimace.

“Hi, son. How are you?” He asked with a grin sneaking its way onto his face. He heard the TV volume get turned down, and Lori asking if it was Rick in the background, to which Carl shushed her. Rick smirked.

“Good! How are you? Have you ridden yet? How are the horses? Was Rusty fun to ride? When do I get to cooooooome??” Carl whined and Rick grinned and shook his head at the influx of questions.

“I'm good. Yes I've ridden. The horses are great. Yes Rusty was fun to ride. And I said you get to come next weekend, remember?” Rick chuckled, approaching the parking lot, and noticing a familiar figure leaning against the post. The bare arms under the scruffy shirt were impossible not to recognise. As Rick approached and walked through the gate toward his car, Daryl sort of stared at him for a second, before shrugging and nodding. Then he went back to his cigarette.

“Yaaaaayyyy! Is there a pony picked out for me or do I get to choose?” Carl's voice wafted over Rick and he had to ask his son to repeat the question, because he had smiled at Daryl and the guy had kind of glared back.

“Well, there's a pony that Michonne reckons you'll like – she's the owner. But if you don't like him I suppose you could pick your own. I think you'll like Buttons though. He looks like a sweet, good natured gelding.” As he spoke, he unlocked the cruiser with a small 'beep' and leaned into the passenger side to get his wallet from the glovebox.

“Oh cool! Um. What's a gelding again?” Carl asked sheepishly, and Rick chuckled.

“He's not a stallion anymore.” When Carl didn't respond, Rick tried again. “Neutered. Like how you do with a dog.”

“Oh. Ooooooh. Ew.” Carl groaned with recognition and as Rick locked his car again, he heard Daryl scoff behind him.

“Yeah. But on a horse it calms them down, makes them more friendly and easier to ride.” Daryl scoffed even harder at that.

Rick figured the guy liked a lively horse, and wondered if he often rode stallions instead. The need to see the man ride grew, and he decided he was definitely going to stay to watch the breaking. It would also be very interesting to see this new method Michonne had talked about.

Before Carl could reply, Rick heard Lori calling for him in the background, and began to wonder if she constantly cut their phone call time short on purpose. Surely she wasn't that spiteful though, right?

“Awww I've gotta go. Mom says they're going shopping and apparently I _have_ to come...”

“Alright. Don't worry. I'll call you this afternoon. Be sure to ask your mom for that Playstation One you've been wanting so bad.” Rick chuckled at his sabotage as he leaned against the side of the cruiser, and noticed a small smirk on the redneck's face opposite him.

“Dad, it's Playstation 4, and Xbox One, _god_.” Carl groaned.

“Sorry.” A pause. “Ask her for both then.” He grinned and got a laugh out of Carl. Daryl was shaking his head, and as Rick watched, he lit another cigarette after carefully butting out the first.

“I will! Wait – do you think she'd actually get me one? Or _both_?!” Carl seemed very excited, and Rick's grin widened.

“Maybe. Your birthday is coming up, remember?”

“Yeah! Okay, I'll ask!” More of Lori's voice echoed through the phone, clearly irritated this time. “Oh. Gotta go. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Carl.” And the call ended.

Rick smiled at the screen for a while, until the light faded. He slid the phone into his pocket and crossed his arms, looking back up at the redneck who was watching him closely. The guy seemed to be studying him, scrutinising him with squinted, deep blue eyes.

“Yer ex, I'm guessing..?” Daryl enquired, as if he was just looking to break the silence, though Rick wouldn't have called it awkward.

“Yeah. Ex wife. Or well, soon to be. As soon as those papers I posted this morning get approved,” Rick answered, again wondering if the guy could be friend material. It would be nice to talk to someone about this stuff, someone who wasn't directly involved, or even knew Shane or Lori.

“S'pose now it's time to live up the bachelor life,” Daryl commented, and Rick's eyebrows raised in response.

“Uhh... Not something I've really thought about, to be honest...?” Rick replied as he pulled off his Stetson and raked his fingers through his hair.

It had passed through his mind once or twice, but the thought had been pushed down as soon as it surfaced. Not only was he _so_ not ready to be looking, but Rick just wanted to be Rick for a while. Wanted to live for himself, and not someone else, apart from his son, of course.

“Oh. 'S just wha' my brother does every time 'e's lost a 'ball an' chain' as 'e calls it.” Daryl shrugged, seeming very self conscious all of a sudden.

“Huh. Well, I mean I ain't gonna be going out on the 'prowl' or whatever it's called..” Rick chuckled as he imagined himself cruising some bar, looking to pick up a chick, or hell forbid, using one of those dating websites. A frown snuck its way onto his face. As he continued, his gaze dropped to the ground, and he kicked at a clump of grass absentmindedly. “Besides – been married for damn near twenty years. Not sure I even know how to _be_ single anymore..”

Finally the fear he'd had for months blurted from his mouth, and he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders he didn't even know he was carrying. Now that it was gone, he realised how it had been pressing in on him, how he'd been fearing life as a single person, after being one half of a couple for so long.

“So jus' be a dad fer a while then.” Daryl's voice pulled him out of his reverie, and he returned his gaze to the man who now seemed rather focused on the conversation. “Ya seem like a good one so far, so jus' be that. Be yer kid's dad.”

There was a seriousness to the man's tone, even almost a pleading, as though it was severely important.

He was trying to say something back to that, something profound and deep, when his thoughts were cut short by a loud growling in his stomach. He grimaced at Daryl who shook his head.

“But maybe first go get yerself somethin' t' eat. Or yer stomach'll scare the horses worse than tha' damn phone o' yers.” Daryl glared, though there was a sly grin on his face, thin lips twisted in mirth.

Even filled with playful scorn, Rick thought it was very becoming of him.

So then Rick grinned sheepishly, nodded to Daryl, and went to get himself a damn pretzel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with me! You're all so precious and make my day with lovely little comments and kudos and stuff! A reminder: I'm always up for taking little critique and suggestions for what would be cool to happen. There's a few thangs planned for the next few chapters, and I'm happy to share a few tiny teasers. Rick's gonna get somewhat acquainted with Carol, then Maggie and Charlie (the novice instructor). There will be a sausage sizzle and I promise we'll see Daryl ride in the next few chapters. God, I'm gonna have to work on shortening this shit, or the first day at Whitesburg is gonna go for 50k words xD And I have so much more planned heh. Sorry, but not really sorry. I'm writing this story for all of you, but also for myself, and I like to get really invested in a story, and not have it totally based around a romance.
> 
> Also, if anyone was wondering about the setting, it's loosely based in Coweta County (mentioned in the first chapter), which is a real county in Georgia, not far from Atlanta. Taylor's and Murphy's Sports Pub are real bars, though of course I hold no affiliation, and know nothing aside from the fact that they're not too far from where I've chosen Rick lives and works. Whitesburg is a suburb about a half hour drive from Rick's house, but there's no riding school there as far as I could tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment and leave some constructive criticism! This is my first attempt at a novel-long fic, and I'm anxiously wanting to know if it's too long winded or not. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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